Viennese Blue
by Aleberle
Summary: On a seemingly regular invasion of his favorite aristocrat's house, Prussia stumbled across a small object that forced him to rethink his relationship with the prissy nation, and not in a way he would have wanted to. As his attempts to gather information earn him suspicion, he wonders whether this is something he can fix (M for WW2 mentions and suicidal behavior, no smut).
1. Prologue

**Hello, my dear readers! Firstly, I wish to thank every one of you who took the time to read my first and previous story, particularly those who were so kind as to mark it, or myself, with a following, favorite, or review. However, I should mention that it was intended to be a one-shot, so I sincerely doubt that it will be continued unless I decide to give it a sequel. I am sorry if you are disappointed by that, but I hope you might understand that** _ **Pianos, Prussians, and Thunderstorms**_ **was simply intended to act as an experiment to provide an answer to three inquiries - Can I write well? Which style should I write in? Am I able to write two very proud characters in a challenging situation while still keeping them in character rather than simply making them uncharacteristically romantic? I believe I have my answer to one of these questions, but I am still working on improving my writing and discovering which style to use that fits into the appreciation of modern society. On that note, I wish to give special thanks to two reviewers - Lawliness and ShiroiKarasuX. Both of these two offered me something invaluable. ShiroiKarasuX, you provided me with boosted self confidence and motivation, as I will admit to have used your review to brighten my day whenever I have found myself discouraged. Thank you very much, and I am more grateful than I can perhaps ever say to have brought a story to life in your mind! I would adore to read anything that you write! Lawliness, you have provided me with constructive criticism, which I desperately need. So often, I receive no feedback to provoke improvement simply because I use many details and words. My current literature teacher has informed me on multiple occasions that she cannot teach me anything and has stopped giving me any form of criticism whatsoever. I cannot express how refreshing it is to be told what I still need to do to improve. I am well aware that I ramble, I write too many details when they are not needed, and I partially blame this on being taught to write by the example of Charles Dickens during the years which I learned and remembered the most. Thank you very much, and I will do my utmost to shorten, if not eliminate, the unnecessary sections of my work!**

 **Now that these expressions of gratitude are behind me, I will discuss the details of this story.** _ **Viennese Blue**_ **was an idea I created nearly a year ago, but could not write as I envisioned it. This is a greater experiment, of how well I can write these characters in an even more difficult situation, which style I should use, and how well I can write my first multi-chapter work. I do not expect this to be a well crafted story, though I will do my best to exceed my expectations. Each chapter will likely be more brief than my last story, but these will work as a piece of a complete story, while the last was a complete story by itself, so I personally feel that they should be shorter than any one-shot I might create. I may edit this story after it has been published, therefore I would greatly appreciate any advice you might have! However, if you would keep your criticisms constructive, it would be especially helpful. Additionally, this story will develop to incorporate PruAus, the romantic pairing between Gilbert Beilschmidt, Prussia, and Roderich Edelstein, Austria. However, you are free to view their relationship as you see fit. If you are uncomfortable with the idea of the usage of this pairing, I highly suggest that you find another story to read written by a more experienced author, as I would not wish you to force yourself to read something you know you will not enjoy.**

 **Finally, an important** _ **trigger warning**_ **must be given here, as this work contains themes such as depression and self harm. If this bothers you in any way, please find another story now that will not upset you. With that in mind, thank you and I hope that you are able enjoy this work!**

There were only a few objects scattered about the room. Firstly, there was a knife. The knife had caused so many problems and yet so many solutions, an endless paradox that seemed inescapable now that it had begun. Secondly, there was liquid. Vile, repulsive liquid that stuck to the floor, the furniture, and everything else in its path, a sole drop falling to the floor every few seconds for the last hour. Too much of it. It filled the room in a chaotic result of a disaster. It was all too much. That was all the third object in the room knew. It was too much, and yet, too little. All that was left was the suffocatingly large destructional trail of chaos, everything spun out of control, far beyond the point of redemption. Where was the order? It had to be there, as order is, at least as he saw it, eternally inescapable, a necessary evil that was required in all things, and yet it was gone. One trial, one single string of chaotic desperation, and it gave into the pressure, collapsing into the endless abyss of nothing. Had he only been granted one opportunity, one chance, to prove himself worthy of its blessings before it sold him to the warfare he had made himself victim to?

A shuddered breath, bare limbs, and the harsh bite of frigid tile beneath him, a fallen guard made prisoner after the inevitable corruption that had always lingered over his shoulder like the cold hand of death since the felons began mocking him from their darkened caverns behind bars. Had redemption taken its leave to retire among those who mirrored its purity, or was it still there, whispering comfort to deaf ears? Did it not care that vanity had taken so much and him so far? Was glass still worth salvaging after it shattered?

That was the question, or the first, at least. There existed not a single creature, there never had and there never would, who held the capability, and certainly not the willingness, to make the decision for him. No one was coming, if the hollowing emptiness of the surrounding sanctuary did not tell him this, the battlefield filled solely with his opposition on which he had once held with him the belief that he could maintain any fleeting sense of order and control would most certainly spare no malice in making certain he was well aware. Now, there was nothing, only a man, chaos, and an unmade decision. It was now his moment to decide.

If anything, was it worth it to face the damage and renew the struggle for what he had lost?

If he chose to surrender himself, was there anyone, any person at all, who would know the damage? Would his defeat be met with grief or celebration, acknowledged as a tragedy or a blessing? And what about himself? How would he greet a victory? Would he pride himself or silently confine himself to the unlockable cage of misery in hopes that his mask would be enough to convince the world that his success meant something to him?

And what of his potential? Was Maria right in her belief that it would be immortalized as the greatest blessing the world would ever know? Were his creations enough to outweigh the failure? Did any of them carry any meaning beyond his own pleasure and obligation? Were they capable of making his existence worthwhile? Was the music enough? Was the dance? Were any of them the deciding factor?

Did it matter that he cared more for these things than his own life, a life which he lost control of? And how many times had he fled to them in a pathetic attempt to pretend he could not see the damage inflicted upon the innocent as a result of his own weakness when the moment came to protect them? Out of all the many years he had danced to the music of another composer, gliding into the steps of another choreographer, had anything he had ever done, his accomplishments, his work, his very life, meant anything, at least enough to see their impact on the world, or even on one person, one child?

Even as it was, devoid of anything, there remained too much. Too many questions, too many doubts, too much misery, too much hatred, too much temptation. Everything had a question, yet nothing he ever asked seemed to be worthy of an answer. His jaw clenched, teeth forcing themselves upon another row with so much force that the possibility of their damage lingered in his mind, but was not significant a thought enough to pursue, and his lips tightened into a straight line, the silent form of indignation he had practiced for so many years.

How had he ended up this way? In the days when he stood proudly by the side of his leaders on elegant balconies above cheering crowds of thousands of loving citizens, each of whom treated the experience as a miracle they had waited years to know for themselves, it had never once occurred to him that he would end up in such a way, a pathetic, quivering mound on the floor after a few small pushes caused him to collapse and shatter completely, certainly not with the repulsive image of that egotistical Prussian idiot looming over his shoulder, counting every passing second as he waited for him to slip up. In fact, the very idea would surely have repulsed him.

And he did. He slipped up and fell so harshly, skidding across the ground and muddying himself with the earthly remains of the storm of his failure, while everyone else stood their ground and remained strong. The same limb stuck out to trip them all and caught only him, leaving him in such a position that all he was capable of doing was wondering. The question of whether he wanted to get up lost all significance and replaced itself with the question of whether he deserved to. Was he really willing to force himself up from the mud to face the tortured screams of those who suffered from his mistakes? Or, contrary to his hopes, would the sounds ring in his ears for all eternity, as they so had up until that point and continued to? Could the streets of his mind never be cleaned of the blood that colored them, forever staining the boots of the soldier of tracked through the rain of equal color? How high was the price of the badge of the guilty, the grim reminder of what could not be undone and that which laid blame on he who was truly at fault?

Despite it all, the music he played did nothing more than feed himself lies. After all the years of deception, of crime, failure, and white gloves stained red, he had gotten no better. Nothing he created amounted to anything. He had never changed, and, perhaps, he never would. Tonight's events should hardly have been anything shocking. Nothing could degrade him beyond his own actions, much less his own loss to chaos in a bitter attempt at redemption.

But that wasn't true, was it? No, that was only what he chose to tell himself. There was no pure motivation beyond what he had done, only an absurd act committed in the selfishness of anguish. The vain mindset that his unhappiness justified acting impulsive when he himself knew nothing of suffering was deplorable, yet it was his, and he had found no means of uncovering another. Even so, the third question arose from epiphany:

What gave him the right to sit limply in a pool of blood that was not his own and whine and grieve for his own discomfort?

His people should have been disappointed in him, and perhaps they would have been, should they have known. Surely, they were not deserving of such a sorry attempt of a nation. Shriveled on the floor and seeking pity from the heavens as though he was capable of nothing more, it would be an insult to subject them to the sight of their land in such a state. On days such as these, he questioned whether they would be better off without a representative altogether.

Naturally, he knew better than to truly believe that his people

A deep breath, bare limbs, and the harsh bite of frigid tile beneath him, a fallen guard could fix himself, and they would all soon know his glory, and when that day came, no, they would have to wait no longer, each and every citizen he housed would overflow with pride for their nationality. Order, precision, control, these were all things he knew best. If he could do anything, he could at the very least _try_ to regain them. If he had a choice, it would be idiotic to decline it.

From his position on the floor, legs folded underneath him and arms outreached to his own viewing point to inspect the horror of his collapse, shaking to a greater extent with every further second he chose to inspect them, his head, like a rusted sculpture of tin, creaked upwards, the movement lacking its normal speed and grace. Every breath taken in and out of his nostrils was shaken, but calming. From the meager amount of leverage it now claimed, he found himself just able to recognize the top of his head and the mound of hair the color of black coffee that pooled over it from the brief picture of their reflection that he was able to grasp from his limited vision of the person standing inside the mirror hanging on the wall.

If he could muster the strength to stand from whatever passion and desire existed still inside him, he could peer into the visual display of whatever damage had been taken. His legs ached and his forearms burned, but they were capable. If they could carry him and remain loyal through war, they could carry him across a simple room. As if a miracle, the mirror was so close that it might as well have been touching him, only a few feet away at the very most. Even at his very worst, though he was not certain that he was not at that moment, he knew very well that he could accomplish that much.

The strain that pulled at his legs was unexpectedly harsh, though he had most certainly predicted that it would have been present. How long had he allowed himself to linger there, not moving said limbs except on rare occasion? Thinking back, he found himself unable to know. The resulting irritation that flowed through himself in response bit at his lips, threatening to pull them back into a rather ungraceful gesture.

' _You should know that you're better than this_.' He thought to himself, not bothering to correct his brash tone. Quite furiously, he scoffed, at no person other than himself and his own foolishness. In a fit of heightened frustration, he began to rise to his feet, though shakily and unsteadily. As expected, his limbs seared with a burning sensation, and his determination could do nothing to blind him from such a discomfort. Several moments on his journey to stand upright threatened to be the one at which he collapsed, his knees nearly buckling with the strain of his weight, yet none proved themselves to be capable of doing little more than causing him to flinch. After each spell, a few restrained breathes paved way for something yet to come, possibly the next and possibly the strength he was yet to find.

With some effort, he managed to force a foot from its position on the floor, dragging it a short distance through the air, and placing it down gently on the tile below. Even with his caution, the little impact caused shock waves of pain to course through his leg, burning and pulsing nearly unbearably. Instinctively, his mouth shot open in preparation to sound some manner of a pained gasp, though no such sounds came, aside from a few strangled cries that were hardly loud enough to be audible. Silently, he reminded himself to never weigh down his leg in the way he had for the amount of time that it had endured the lack of comfort.

A few moments passed, just as many shuddered breaths passed from his open mouth, before he dared to attempt movement again. Once he did, it was far from enjoyable, but any physical strain was expected. The second foot moved tediously, travelling little distance over what felt to be far too great of a span of time. Under any other circumstances, it would have been disappointing, but in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to focus on anything but the strain. As he set it down, the same electricity jolted through his leg, still unnerving him despite how much he had expected it. The sensation seemed to travel through him, grasping and pulling at his facial features until he quickly gave into the act of cringing uncomfortably.

He dug his teeth into his lower lip, allowing heavy breathes to pass through his nostrils, and allowed his eyes to close in an attempt to shield himself from the pain. ' _Schwächling,'_ He silently berated himself. ' _You took a step, if you can't do that, how do you expect to control this?_ '

Sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth, he wrenched a foot forward once again. The pain seemed to have lessened ever so slightly, though that was not saying much. One of his feet was likely beginning to collapse into slumber, offering a unique numbness that did not entirely prevent feeling, though he was not entirely certain as to whether or not this was an improvement. What he was certain of, however, was that this detail offered no excuse to cease moving forward. Despite what happened, he had to see the damage. Not only that, but he _needed_ the container, it was no longer a mere option. Nothing else could cure him of this chaos, and he could no longer bear to suffer through it.

Another step, then another. Each brought some form of agony, but it was dulling. For the reward, anything was bearable. In a sense, the struggle was degrading. Just days ago, he had so firmly sworn to himself that he would never allow himself to go so far as to stoop to the level of requiring the contents of the capsule. No, he had never wanted to do this. To beg for a solution was to admit the problem, and his stubbornness had deemed such an idea far beyond consideration. Yet, here he was - stumbling pathetically to it in a fit of desperation because the only other option was ignorance. After tonight's events, every last particle of anything and everything that had ever gone wrong seemed to have grown eyes, which peered mockingly and unceasingly into his very soul until he was forced to admit his shame. As long as it had gone on and as many clues and foreshadowing as there were along the way, somehow, the climax had still taken him surprise.

Perhaps he simply wanted to believe that he dictated his mind so much that he began believing himself. However long ago it was when it began - he honestly couldn't say, as it happened so gradually that he had been blind to it until roughly a month back, though the severity was a matter he could never have foreseen - he had been fine, and that was not a prideful lie. On the rare occasion that someone were to question the status of himself and his country, he could answer with honesty that there was nothing wrong with him, apart from the inevitable political debate from his people that irritated him so much. No matter how one were to phrase it, the meaning was the same - he was fine, he was alright, he was _okay_ , and now, well, at the very least, he could pride himself on the matter of recognition. Unlike many, he was not so far gone that identifying his dilemma was ludicrous in his own mind, which he supposed was good, as he was not too far gone. Did that mean he would attempt to seek some form of help, as others did? Absolutely not. He was troubled, not delusional, and by no means would he attempt to fool himself into believing that he could think of anyone who honestly cared about his predicament.

The consumption of his mind at the hands of his suffering and his reminiscing had left him unaware of his surroundings, and as he had allowed himself to become lost in his own thoughts, he could only blame himself for all but slamming himself into his frigid marble destination. Upon doing so, he let out a pained hiss and sent the counter a pointless glare, as though it were at fault for his placement of it. In an attempt to regain what little composure he had not already destroyed, he drew a hand to his glasses, pushing them farther up on the bridge of his nose. The other gripped the edge of the counter tightly, as though all the order in his life could be restored through his hold on an object.

His momentary lapse of anger was quickly forgotten as his eyes shifted uncomfortably across the marble. The shame he held his actions was remembered with an absolutely repulsive feeling in his stomach, without content to remove from it, at the sight of the steadily growing pool of scarlet liquid. As much as he despised it, he could not bare to will his eyes to leave it, as though they were drawn to it magnetically and could not leave until the electric pull had been eliminated entirely. Or, perhaps, some remaining sense of justice in his mind told him that it was only fair for him to see the consequences of his actions.

It then occurred to him that this, well, rather intentional, accident required his attention before all else. He swept his eyes across the short distance to the neat rack of towels, not allowing them far enough up as to reach the mirror, and brought his arm down from where it lingered by his face to stretch across the distance. The towels were warm, in spite of the room's temperature, and welcomed his grip on them. With one taken in his hand, he moved the cloth to the mouth of the faucet, bringing his second hand from the edge of the counter to grip the metal handle, which fit wonderfully and smoothly into his palm, and still startled him with the bitter coolness of the object.

The handle creaked just slightly as he turned it, but did not fail to begin the pounding fall of water from the faucet. As the water crashed onto the cloth, he could feel the heat draining from the fabric, being replaced by dampness that was chilled and crisp, adding weight for his hand to maintain. Quite quickly, the water ended its flow and the now wet object was due to serve its purpose.

Though it should have been anticipated, the freezing water stung as it entered the gaping wounds that lied in rows across his arm. In an odd way, the feeling was both refreshing the cause of the now constant feeling that some inhuman creature was crawling under his skin for the sole purpose of giving him an incentive to stop what he was doing. Despite how little comfort he received from it, he pressed the fabric harder against the stretching rips in his skin, expelling a liquid of another type, this one darker and tinted crimson, from underneath. The droplets of both kinds poured across the near translucent skin of his forearm, pooling by the edge of the cloth where the colored contaminated the uncolored, and falling across the limb and onto the floor in a repeating sound that was just loud enough to tire him.

Hardly a minute had passed before he transferred the cloth to the other arm, locating the area of concern without effort and covering it. As he did so, the cool air began rushing into the lacerations on the now uncovered forearm, causing his entire limb to twitch in a most unnatural way and stealing away any comfort he had any hope of regaining. That was not to say that the covered arm was causing him to have the time of his life, but the clean injuries suffered from a new brand of discomfort from the natural chilled air of Vienna in the fall.

Only when he deemed his wounds thoroughly clean did he released his tight hold on the cloth. With one issue behind him, it was necessary to move onto another. Taking in a preparatory breath, he dragged his own head upwards, at last staring into the image displayed in the otherwise beautiful mirror.

The person who stared back at him was a miserable image. Pale and ragged, his face projected the living image of a lack of willpower, sharing with him the image of someone unable or unwilling to continuing the battle he found himself fighting. And, at this, he could see the question forming on his face - how had he come to this? Obviously, he was aware that he had taken the course of action that he had, but, even so, the image was another brand of vile. Even the vivid repulse that tainted his face, his eyes bulged and mouth pulled back in disgust, looked incorrect, just as all else in the image did. Throughout years of war, blood on his hands, and corpses at his feet, he failed to bring any other occasion to mind in which any other was capable of housing eyes that appeared as lifeless as his. Honestly, he had always carried some level of pride for his eyes, relishing in the compliments they collected and the few unguarded stares from strangers during the beginning moments of conversation, but he could not say this was the same now. The sight before him was utterly shameful, placing him under a repulsed and ashamed hypnosis until he brought himself to tear open the nearby medicine cabinet in such a way that the hanging door shielded himself from his own corpse-like reflection.

He shook his head, attempting to expel the image from his mind. Instead, he put his focus on rummaging through the contents of the cabinet. "I am Austria." He muttered to the various bottles and brushes which were forever sworn to silence, though the comment was intended to reassure himself of his own words, repressing the volume of his voice as if he expected a person to appear around the corner, carrying harsh judgement with them. "I am _Austrian_." Shoving past objects, rearranging others, he continued his search. Had he gotten rid of it, or relocated it to some area he would never think to look? No, he certainly would not, or, at least, he thought he wouldn't. Perhaps he had, but had simply forgotten. Surely, it was distinct enough to be eye catching, that was undoubtable, but there was no part of his mind that was not convinced that he had intentionally hid it behind other objects in fear of it being discovered on the off chance that he were to have guests - that much he remembered.

And, evidently, his memory was not far past its prime, as he found the apricot colored container behind an aged tube of toothpaste that appeared to have been not well taken care of. Upon seeing it, a feeling overcame, though whether it was excitement or dread, he could not say. It was strong, but did not deter his thoughts enough to prevent him from reaching for the container and encasing it in his palm. The bright label on its front was smooth, and he ran his fingers over it a considerable number of times, inspecting the feel of the paper in what he assumed was some corner of his mind's panicked attempt to stall for time in order to offer him a final chance to reconsider his planned course of action before he went through with it.

His mind remained made up, and he directed another dripping arm over to the translucent case, taking the thick lid in his hand. Once his hand had a trustworthy grip on the lid, he twisted it open, taking some relish in the varying degrees of volume in the cracks made by the plastic. Despite its creaks and cracks, it opened, revealing a plethora of miniature capsules inside. He stared at these for a few moments, breathing in slowly as the extent of his presumed actions became clear in his mind. He was not afraid of what he would do, no, for he had no reason to be, but there was an element in taking a small dosage of these objects that was thought provoking, at the very least.

Setting the lid down on the puddle-covered marble, he brought a hand over to select one or two of the capsules. They were smooth, their texture seeming to reward him for choosing to partake of them, and cool, though not in the way that the air nor the water were. He briefly dragged his tongue across his lips as the shaking hand moved closer to his slightly ajar lips in anticipation.

The tremor in his hand calming, the capsules awaiting his actions, it was then clear - as of that moment, Austria would soon regain his control.

 **Translations:**

 **Schwächling - Weakling**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Ah, it feels wonderful to write again! I don't know how good this was and I feel like this is all** _ **really**_ **out of character, but I sort of just wanted to experiment with Austria and Prussia! Also, sorry that I took until the last few paragraphs to tell you that this was an Austria-centric chapter. That was just an odd choice that I made when I was initially writing this and I thought that I might as well stand by it. Looking back, it was probably really irritating, though.**

 **Also, in case it wasn't made clear, this chapter and story do involve constant mentions of Major Depressive Disorder, or depression, as it is more commonly known, this chapter even referencing self-harm. As I have never had MDD and certainly never considered harming myself in such a way, I have never experienced this kind of a situation before and, thus, do not know exactly what it feels like, so I had to write this off of my knowledge of Austria's character (which, let's be honest, isn't great) and my knowledge of the disorder, which I did some amount of research on and have friends who have suffered from this. If I am** _ **at all**_ **displaying this incorrectly and/or in a way that is offensive,** _ **please**_ **let me know and help me to edit this chapter and** _ **any**_ **future chapters so that I may represent this emotional disorder correctly. Additionally, if you or someone you know suffers from this, especially if it is becoming dangerous,** _ **please**_ **seek help. If you need someone to talk to, your family, friends, teachers, heck, myself, though I am rather inexperienced, anyone, please do so. We will always be here for you and desperately want to see you get better and be happy again!**

 **Oh, and I will also mention that the thoughts projected in this work are not mine, but, rather, my interpretation of the thoughts that someone such as Roderich might experience in such a situation. They are probably not accurate to his character, as I previously stated, but I want to see if I can get to the point where they are. Once again, I hope you were able to enjoy this and I very thoroughly apologize if you were offended in any way.**

 **~Aleberle**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello again, my dear readers! It's Aleberle again! Ah, this was possibly the most entertaining piece of literature that I have written in a very long time! I will warn all possible readers now that a section of this work is devoted** _ **entirely**_ **to making Prussia awkward, which, while extraordinarily fun, is most likely out of character. Also, thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and/or followed the last chapter of this particular work! It is absolutely gratifying beyond words to see others enjoying my work!Please keep in mind that this will not be the best story on this website and that it will eventually evolve into something with hints of PruAus (as it is my personal OTP), the romantic pairing of Prussia and Austria from Hetalia. Once again, you are free to view their relationship however you want and please do not read this if you do not want to. If you really don't like this pairing enough that you won't enjoy this story, please don't read it. I don't want you to be miserable reading something you don't like. I am sure that you can find stories written by much better authors than myself focusing on pairings you like or none at all. Once again, there may be a few words in German, but they will all be near the bottom of the page, just above the "Author's Note".**

 **Also, just before I begin, I would like to once again thank all those who reviewed those who reviewed my last chapter, particularly ShiroiKarasuX. ShiroiKarasuX, my goodness, thank you so much! I don't think I've ever had someone compliment me so much in my life! Ah, it simply makes my day to read your reviews and it is so wonderful to know that you enjoy my work! Thank you so much! (Also, yes, I waste so much time making sure my grammar is correct, thank you for noticing, and, don't worry, there is nothing about your reviews that could make me unhappy. Especially as you're not a native speaker, I'm impressed!)**

 **Alright, in conclusion, thank you very much for reading all of that! Thank you for showing your support by showing up to read this and please feel to leave feedback, but do please try to keep the criticism constructive, as I really do appreciate if you find areas for me to improve on! Anyway, in conclusion, this isn't anywhere near perfect and has a lot of issues, but I do truly hope that you are able to enjoy it and how I've written it, especially if that enjoyment is enough that you would like to read the next chapters that I have planned! So, I sincerely hope that you have fun and enjoy this work!**

A rattling boom sounded throughout the house as the wooden door slammed shut behind the nation now inside. As he set both his feet down onto the polished hardwood floors of the building, the temperature seeming to drop considerably, an almost reminiscent smirk crossed his face. With a brief shake, he adjusted to cool nip of the chilled air. For whatever reason far beyond his own comprehension, the house always seemed to manage to remain remarkably colder than the outside world, no matter how late in the year it was nor how awful the weather became. Well, of course, there were a few exceptions, these usually occurring during storms of some sort, whether they be rain or snow, but even so, the building was quite frigid. Not that he wasn't used to it, certainly not, as his own homeland reached lower temperatures on variously given days. That, and the Austrian always seemed to cool his house by whatever means necessary. Oddly enough, he consistently complained about the temperature if it was brought up, so whatever the musician was doing to his house was beyond the Prussian entirely. Later in the day, it would be warmed by an array of candles that lined the various hallways. However, that would not be for another few hours. So, he made do and glanced around the familiar room that surrounded him.

The entryway around him was particularly bare, as the residence's owner believed an entryway was believed to be best when simplistic, though a few scattered paintings littered the walls, each in an elegant frame, unique in their own way, though the somewhat minor differences varied from picture to picture. Each was comfortingly familiar, just as the rest of the building was. These paintings were mounted on walls of darkened shades of chestnut, which were elegant in their simpleness.

However, the interior design of the residence was the least of his concerns. If he came for the visual appeal of the house, he surely would have gotten bored of showing up centuries ago. Instead, his sights were set on the owner of the house, and from what he could hear, he was in luck, as he knew only one person capable of composing the music that flowed vividly down the steep staircase which he led his eyes up, a sly smirk creeping across his face as the man who was surely just past the steps entered his mind. Perhaps out of habit, perhaps to acknowledge his existence in an attempt to claim the man's attention, he made certain that his presence did not go unnoticed.

"Hey, Priss!" Prussia hollered, reaching out for the railing that trailed upwards with the staircase he intended to conquer. "Guess who's finally back to pay you the most awesome visit of your life!" He might have imagined it, but it was just possible that he had been able to hear a split second pause in the composition, just long enough for a certain Austrian to groan irritatedly. If he did, then he was justified in the skyrocketing of his mood, as he could try for years and not think of one sound that gave him greater joy.

Prussia began his journey up the stairs, the sound of new, yet somehow familiar, music acting as a guide. His weighted ebony boots pressed down on each step, successfully earning a pained creak from the ancient and unprotected wood, the sound echoing through the house, only to be canceled out by the stream of musical notes that flowed from the open door not far from the top of the staircase. What could surpass the sounds of the pianist's creation was the yell of a Prussian. "What's the matter? I'm not hearing any aristocrats running down their stupid stairs to greet me." He called from his position nearing the final few steps, an amused sense of teasing integrated into his tone.

The lack of verbal response was expected, but his presence was not ignored. From years of knowing the pianist, Prussia had learned to notice the slight rise in instrumental volume as the nation used slamming his fingers onto the keys as a way of expressing the unspoken desire for the albino to leave his house without him having to ask. His grin widened and he continued up the stairs, stepping over the last step with some level of triumph. He took only a brief moments to catch his breath from the staircase which pointlessly, and quite annoyingly, lacked nearly any and all horizontal aspect, before strolling past the short distance between his previous position and the doorway to the room so heavily favored by the man inside.

"Hey, priss!" Prussia practically yelled, earning him a vexed look from the musician, the man's hands now off hovering just above the delicate keys. "Come on, I'm not hearing your celebration on having the most awesome guest in the world!"

If it were possible for Austria to look as though he cared any less, he would have had to have been a living personification of apathy.

"Come on, Roddy, don't pretend you're not glad to see me!" Prussia insisted, strolling across the hardwood floors and pretending he did not notice the tired glare the aristocrat sent less-than-clean boots. As he made his way over to the impressive instrument in the center of the room, he glanced casually around his surroundings. It was just as it had been the previous time he decided to pay the younger man a visit - extravagant paintings hung in elegant frames in several areas of the walls, organized just enough to impress whatever guests ever stepped foot into the room, monstrous windows that nearly stretched from the floor to the ceiling without stopping and pooled light from the outside world into the room which had become Austria's, and various instruments, lovingly protected by their cases, stacked not far from the favored piano.

Said Austrian sat facing the other from the seat of the piano, noticeably beginning to give up on the dear hope that Prussia would leave as soon as he came. He looked exasperated and irate, by all means very far from being glad to see his former rival. "What on earth gave you that idea?" Austria inquired crossly.

"Well," Prussia began, looking all things, if not, pleased with himself. "Who wouldn't be excited to be visited by the awesome Prussia?" In that moment, the Prussian appeared to have been more thrilled by his own presence than any other creature could possibly ever be.

"Gilbert, please," Austria pleaded wearily, bringing a hand up to adjust his glasses. "I have a headache, you know. Don't make it worse."

"Aw," Prussia cooed, outstretching a hand to place on Austria's head, a teasing smirk making its way across his lips. "Are you tired from playing the piano all day?" He ran his hand through the dark strands of hair in a gesture of false affectionate sympathy.

Austria was evidently unamused. He lifted his hand from his face to swat the patronizing hand away from his head, scowling at the elder nation in irritation. "Can you not find anything else to do?" He demanded, allowing a sigh of exhausted annoyance to pass between his lips. "There is beer in the fridge, will that not entertain you?"

"Oh, come on!" Prussia insisted, sliding his elbow onto the piano and leaning against the instrument. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"What do you think?" Austria shot back, more exasperated than anything else. He did appear rather tired, his eyes maintaining a sharper edge taken on in his moments of sleepless anger. There was little doubt that he would get much less work done than on any other given day, but the process of composing would relax him as much as anything, and then some, at the very least giving his mind extra room for patience, which he appeared to have desperately needed at the moment.

"Fine," Prussia compromised with a scowl. "But you don't know what you're missing."

In a heap of boredom, Prussia shoved himself off of the piano which he had previously rested upon and marched across the room, choosing to ignore the irritated murmurings of what a dummkopf he was believed to be by the man at the piano. He passed through the doorframe and took a quick glance around the house. Naturally, he knew precisely where he was supposed to be going. The kitchen was downstairs, to the left of the foot of the stairs. In that kitchen was the promised supply of alcohol in what had been the cheapest refrigerator available at the time. That was his given excuse to leave the Austrian in a few minutes of peace. It was, however, not a perfect excuse, as it involved two trips over the staircase and having to drink Austrian beer, which was, itself, a poor excuse for any manner of drink whatsoever.

Instead, with the worst intentions in mind, the Prussian made the executive decision to raid the contents of the various rooms which lined the hallways. Sliding just out of Austria's line of vision, as unlikely as the prospect of the aristocrat using his time to look over and check on the former nation in his halls, he crept some short distance to the first room he could see, the sound of music filling the house with its glory once more. The room he came across was guarded by a tightly shut door, carved from what was undoubtedly the finest of woods, practically shining in its russet color. He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, noting that it had been polished recently, by the feel of it, and began turning it at a tedious pace, checking cautiously if the door was locked. The door was not, and he pushed it into the room with excessive degrees of elation at the concept of invading the Austrian's privacy through his misbehavior.

Much to his chagrin, and utter disappointment, Prussia found that the room behind the door was just as shockingly uninteresting as he should have expected from his knowledge of the taste of the man who owned it. Every piece of furniture was elegant and was no more complex than they were at face value. A bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a sealed chest whose lock had rusted so extensively that it would likely never open, even with the key, and he knew this well from experience, antique lamps and wallpaper that were so heavily aged that he doubted that their owner could tell him when they had been acquired. The room held only necessities and pointless decorations - nothing worth half the time it took to investigate. Hastily, he disappeared from the room, closing the door behind him with a bored moan.

The following room, much to his chagrin, looked practically identical to the last. The furniture was just as remarkably uninteresting, though extravagant. Once again, the room invited him with a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and antique lamps and wallpaper, though this room lacked a purposeless chest. Perhaps a historian would have enjoyed a trip through Austria's house, but Prussia was by no means interested in the out-of-date objects and, once again, slipped from the room in search of something which was capable of capturing his attention.

This revealed itself to be easier said than done, as room after room was left practically desolate aside from several scattered and uninteresting objects. The first especially unique room came five doors down, graced with being one of the very few tiled rooms in the establishment. It was by no means a large room, in fact, it was rather cramped, furnished only with a porcelain toilet and a cabinet with a sink, just underneath a mirror just large enough to fit a single person's face and to the left of a lone medicine cabinet. At face value, it appeared to be no more than a bathroom, but there was something appealing about the prospect of the first room that differentiated in flooring.

He entered the room, taking some amount of thrill in investigating. His attention was quickly drawn to the medicine cabinet, likely have sought out the first place to hold contents to root through. The moment he reached it, he flung the door to the object open, acknowledging the wave of satisfaction that came with the wail of the cabinet with a smirk. The medicine cabinet was filled to the brim with more objects than perhaps in any of the other rooms altogether. Prussia's eyes were quickly drawn from bottle to tube to brush and back again, hardly having the time to take in the names of any of the products.

With so many objects to discover, he wasted precious little time. Prussia thrust his hands upon the contents of the cabinet, quickly pulling product after product out of their designated positions, placing some onto the marble counter below. Among other objects were containers of inexpensive toothpaste, bars and bottles of various scented soaps, vitamins, and near countless nameless bottles of liquids which could likely be easily identified if some short amount of time were dedicated to the cause. Generally, the items were expected, but that did not expel the childlike mischief that provoked him to raid the container further.

Out of all the many substances, only one succeeded in seizing and capturing Prussia's attention. This object was a small bottle of an apricot color, decorated with a bright white label and lid. It took some time to come across, as it was hidden behind other objects and turned around to hide the label from view, as though it was intended to remain inconspicuous. Naturally, he took the bottle from its position, now able to identify it as being a container for some kind of medication.

"When did the priss get sick?" Prussia muttered to himself, turning the small container over in his hand, dragging his fingers along the paper. Sure, the aristocrat wasn't always in the best condition, that likely had something to do with the practically nonexistent amount of time he spent outside his ancient house, but he didn't seem sickly, especially not enough to require medication. Out of pure curiosity, the Prussian held the object still and at an angle at which he could read the small words inked onto the paper that wrapped it, then trailed his eyes over the label, which drew blatant attention to what appeared to be a brand name and the words surrounding it.

" _Wellbutrin,_ " it read. His eyes grew to the size of the entire earth itself, which seemed to spin sickeningly as the name engraved itself into his mind. " _Wellbutrin_." It did not take a world renowned doctor to recognize that name, or, at least, not with how many times he had heard it come up. He, himself, had never had a need for the medication, but he was aware of its name and description. His head jerked to the side, his eyes staring down the short hallway passage leading to where the musician sat seemingly leisurely at the piano, ceasing only to cringe and bring a hand up to his temples. He gazed down it silently, mouth slightly agape and eyes bulging, for a good number of seconds, which he could not name, though he was aware that it was an elongated period of time, then looked back at the bottle to make sure that he hadn't just imagined it. He hadn't. For nearly a minute, though it felt like a much longer period of time, he continued this pattern, his mind seeming unwilling or unable to grasp this newly discovered knowledge.

At last, his eyes settled on the small container. It was a widely used medication, so he supposed that he should not have been shocked to come across it, but the very idea of _Austria_ , of all beings, feeling the need to succumb to antidepressants was far beyond his definition of overwhelming. Was the musician depressed? Well, that much was obvious, as there would have been very little purpose in one taking medication for a disorder that one did not have. Particularly, not the Austrian, as he was more than too rational to do so. Rational and prideful, that is. If there was a chance of being caught with such medication that causes such a plethora of questions and concerns, he would go to war before taking it. But, if this was true, how long had this been going on? From further examination of the bottle, if that was even possible with how many times it had already been inspected, the medication appeared to have a date labeled next to the words " _Edelstein, Roderich_."

Often ignorant as he was, Prussia was still intelligent enough to know that this was the date when the medication was prescribed, which, according to the label, was roughly a month back, though the container did not appear to have more than a few capsules missing. The albino bit his lip, flickering his eyes back towards the aristocrat briefly. From his understanding of Austria, which had to be great, considering their extensive history of relations, this had begun far before the previous month. Over the years, his former rival had developed a rather infuriating habit of experienced any form of misery or discomfort, for whatever reason, he took it upon himself to ignore, or, at the very least, undermine, the issue until it either took care of itself or became too tremendous to avoid addressing, and he sincerely doubted that this was no longer the case. For all the Prussian knew, this could have been going on for years without him noticing.

But why hadn't he? This was obviously an issue, as being depressed was already a severe enough matter of its own, but if it had gotten to be such an issue that Austria was forced to address it through the usage of medication, the matter was more than a valid cause for concern. He couldn't give the excuse that he wasn't around enough to pick up on this, as he visited the Viennese house so often that he might as well move in. Surely, he would have noticed the troubles of a man he had known for practically his entire life. Wouldn't he?

Even so, nothing had appeared to be opposed to how it should have been. How was he to notice any clues and hints if there weren't any? Or, perhaps there were, but were too subtle for Prussia to be made aware of, which would be in character for the Austrian. He didn't seem especially distanced, but there were very few nations he chose to interact with at the best of times, none of whom commonly earned more of his attention than the sleek ebony piano that he prized perhaps more than his own life. Had something happened that forced the aristocrat into the dark and malicious sea of depression? As much as he strained his mind for ideas, there was nothing. Perhaps whatever had happened had occurred so far back in time that he could not remember it. His fingers tightened their grip on the bottle, just enough to give an indication of the silent horror that crept into his mind with the idea.

It wasn't as though he could honestly stroll over to his formal rival and expect an answer, but countless questions swarmed his brain, nearly consuming it entirely. Despite his knowledge of this information only existing for a number of minutes, it ate away at him as though there would be no time left to do so if not now. Now, no matter how he looked at it, nor how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, the unavoidable evidence all pointed to the supposed fact that Austria, Roderich Edelstein, suffered from depression, and depression strong enough to require the assistance of antidepressants, at that.

All at once, Prussia found himself ripped out of his thoughts by the irritated call of a foul note, which echoed through the empty hallways, preserving the sound for several seconds past its end. He found his eyes drawn away from the object of his interest, setting it down once again in the polished, yet cramped, medicine cabinet, which required some difficulty in rearranging the various bottles and brushes into something remotely resembling their original positions in an attempt to cause his riffling to appear inconspicuous.

Should he say something once he got back to the room? No, there would be no use in displaying any sort of concern, that would only give Austria reason to be suspicious of the other's intentions in his visit, much less in voicing it. Anything he brought up would swiftly be denied, after which the Austrian would remain infuriated with him for some period of time that was truly anyone's guess. But, he was obliged to say _something_. Not on the matter at hand, per say, but something that would remain in-character and not involve leaving without a word, as there was a chance that Germany would receive a call regarding his elder brother's abnormal behavior.

Before anything could come to his mind, he found himself in the doorway, staring reluctantly at the aristocrat who he was soon to begin some form of conversation with. The task was simple - act as he normally would and say what he would normally say.

"Hey, loser!" He called across the room, resulting in a quiet hiss of irritation under Austria's breath. Should he have been calling an emotionally ill man a loser? On practically any other given day it would have seemed perfectly ordinary name to call the man, but given that Prussia had just been staring at the Austrian's medication and questioning his mental and emotional state, it suddenly seemed to be a rather questionable action. Taking a few steps forward, he plastered what seemed like a triumphant Prussian grin onto his face. "Still playing that old piano?"

Not turning his head, Austria gave the simplest response he could without acknowledging the other - dancing his fingers across several keys to form the beginning of a song Prussia would likely never learn to recognize.

"I asked because, uh," He could feel the confidence in his tone faltering as any and all words ceased their flow to his brain. A sudden pull of tense uncertainty grabbed at his throat, leaving a break in the flow of words from his mouth, which hung slightly ajar as though he still had something to say. What on earth was he doing? Nothing he was saying sounded even remotely like himself, but being himself dissolved into a foreign struggle as he found himself at a loss for words as far as what to say to the pianist. "Because, uh, it's . . . nice."

That got Austria's attention. His head spun around to stare at the Prussian, his eyes widened, mouth hung open, yet lacking words, and disbelief painting the features of his face. For a few moments, he sat silently, looking Prussia up and down in as if reassuring himself that there was not a stranger in his house. At last, when he finally found a single word capable of expressing himself, he sputtered out " _What_?"

Oh, no. At that moment, Prussia became distinctly aware that it would have been universally better to have left his mouth shut and of his sharp longing that he had undergone this epiphany prior to announcing himself. He let out an ear-splitting laugh, pretending that he could, at least, not hear how utterly awkward it sounded. "Silly Austrian!" He began, his tone already seeming to prepare itself for whatever nonsense was to come out of his mouth. "Of course you fell for it! I was simply seeing if you were awesome enough to pass my test - which you are not."

Austria looked as though he couldn't decide whether he was confused or annoyed, or both, for that matter. Either way, he looked anything but convinced by Prussia's cover-up. His mouth closed as his facial expression faded into one of sharp suspicion, his eyes attempting to fall back to the ivory keys of the piano, but always darting back to the Prussian standing some feet away.

"Well," Prussia announced, making up his mind that he needed to leave that house as soon as was physically possible. Should he be implying that Austria was not awesome? It was only in character, but recent events seemed to be challenging his idea of even his own character. The conversation was beyond the point of salvation. If anything, he could only make it worse the longer he stayed. "I would stay, but I, of course, have awesome things to do! You wouldn't know about those kinds of things. You're . . . too . . . nice. Not awesome. Like your piano. Which is not, because I said it is not."

By this point, Prussia was fairly certain that he had unintentionally convinced Austria that he had undergone some manner of possession, for his facial expression certainly suggested so.

"I, uh," He desperately searched his mind for some manner of excuse. At the moment, _anything_ would do, so long as it got him out of that house. ' _Come on, think! There has to be something you have to do. For heaven's sake, he's playing the piano; how hard is it to think of something more interesting to do?_ ' His mind urgently strained. Was there something he had to take care of at home? No, he no longer had a country and there was nothing possibly askew that Germany would not discover and take care of on his own. France had - well, France had _something_ to do, though it was likely best to not ask, and Spain was visiting Italy, he knew that much. His brother was not with his Italian companion, so there was nothing involving the two that he could interrupt.

"I have to go to . . . Ludwig's . . . dance . . . recital."

"You _what_?" Austria practically spat, a single thin eyebrow raised in question. To simply describe his expression, he looked as though his former rival had suddenly lost his mind, and all consciousness of it entirely, and he were staring at a madman, violently screaming utter nonsense. If Prussia were to look hard enough, and he could have sworn that he did, the man almost simultaneously maintained the expression of a dumbstruck, yet thoroughly disappointed, teacher, whose top student had proudly turned in a single, poorly-written sentence in place of a detailed essay.

"Yeah!" Prussia fought back, uncertain why he bothered. Of all the things he could possibly have given as an answer, had it really been necessary for him to say _that_? "West really loves . . . ballet. And, uh, I am a totally awesome brother, so of course, I'll be there!" He could feel himself ruining the opportunity further and further. There was no doubt that he would soon have to explain a sufficiently bewildering telephone conversation to his younger brother, but, at the very least, he would explain it from Berlin.

"Ballet?"

"Ja!"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that _Ludwig_ is merrily dancing _ballet_ , and you have to leave to attend his recital?"

"Of course!" Prussia retorted without so much as a second thought apart from the ever-present sensation of shame that comes with spewing regrettable words.

Austria appeared as though he wanted to protest, his violet eyes screaming that he was not enough of a fool to fall for such an excuse. He scoffed in irritation, seeming to think that if he silently imprinted his disbelief through critically questioning looks and sounds he would receive another answer that made the least bit of sense. However, it did not take long for the thought to occur to him, quite externally, as well, as the realization dawned upon his face in front of Prussia's eyes as soon as it reached his mind, that no matter how belittling a lie he was receiving, and agreeing to accept, for it, he was in no position to pass up an excuse to rid himself of Prussia's presence in his home. Upon this realization, he scoffed once again and set his attentions back on the instrument of his favor, succeeding in looking thoroughly agitated, as per usual.

Were he not trying to regain some of his normality, Prussia would have breathed a heavy sigh of relief. However, seeing as he was, he soundlessly waited for a few moments to see if Austria would turn around, before being met only with the elegant notes and the sight of the lone hallway as he swiftly turned on his heel and began, as calmly and far from resembling a run as he possibly could, dashing out the door frame he had lingered. If he could express how grateful he was in that moment to have gained the opportunity to leave the presence of the Austrian, without opening his mouth again to spew whichever random words took it upon themselves to be spoken, he would, but not in that moment, as that would involve speaking again.

The hallway strained and tense, the incentive of reaching the door was practically overwhelming, guiding him to the ever-steep staircase. He virtually galloped down the steps, conquering groups of two or three at a time, each footfall echoing as the heels of his dark boots pounded against the dense, wooden steps. With every movement, another thought would come into his head, feeling as though his entire mind was in the process of cringing as the memory continued to play over in it. What was _that_? _Ballet_? He had to say _ballet_? Out of the millions of possible excuses to give - which Austria wasn't even asking for - and he picked _ballet_.

Various other questions flooded his mind, some addressing his statements, others his tone, yet, as he planted his feet on the landing at the bottom of the staircase, the aged and rusted, yet polished to appear cared for, handle to the wooden door soon in his hand, one flew violently to the surface of his mind, the most significant by far - what on earth was he going to do about Austria?

 **Translations:**

 **Dummkopf - General term for an idiot or a fool, directly translates to "stupid head".**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Ah, this took quite some time to complete, by which I mean that it took about six days. That probably explains why it isn't exactly the best work I could have produced. However, I really enjoyed this part! It was awkward, inconsistent, and** _ **horribly**_ **out of character, but it was possibly the most fun I've had in a very long time! Whenever I was tired or upset during this week, I turned back to writing that one scene constructed entirely of Prussia being awkward. More than anything else, I would very much appreciate advice on the characterization of these two, as I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing to them! Also, I will now mention that antidepressants are a perfectly suitable form of treating depression, I am not at all opposed to their usage but simply felt that Prussia would be a little* shaken if he found out about this through such means.**

 **I would not know what Austrian beer tastes like, as I have never tried it and have no intentions of consuming alcohol, thus, I based the one sentence addressing its quality based on an assumption of Prussia's opinion due to what I have heard from travelers to Austria and his natural bias to German and Prussian made alcohol. Apparently, Austrians are much better at making wine and coffee, though I am not entirely sure whether this is true or not.**

 **Oh, and just so you know, I am now fairly certain that no one is a bigger nerd than I, nor is there anyone who can waste so much time, because I have actually wasted weeks researching which antidepressant to have Austria take. Yes, that brand is a real brand which I researched the category, prescription, symptoms, and practically everything else that is possible about. Wellbutrin is apparently a highly recommended brand, though I only have a day to a couple of days on this specific brand to use for reference.**

 **In conclusion, thank you very much for reading, I will greatly appreciate any constructive criticism you may have for me, and I hope that you all have wonderful days!**

 **~Aleberle**

 ***More than "a little."**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hello, yet again, my dear readers! Once again, thank you for reading and rating my previous chapters! Now, I must apologize for the lateness of this chapter. It was rather difficult for me to write in that I have been adjusting my writing style to be more dialogue orientated, which is in just the right stages of feeling lacking and awkward that makes everything I write feel wrong and incomplete. Yeah, it's great. This chapter is more of an uneventful chapter, unlike the first and the prologue, however, and I'm used to writing chapters where practically everything happens, so writing a chapter that is intended to be dedicated almost entirely to conversation was a new challenge for me. With that in mind, I am sorry if my work is inadequate in any way. I am afraid that it may be that way for some time while I am still in the early stages of learning to write. The final reason for why this is over a month late is that, for whatever reason, I had a sudden burst of inspiration and wrote the entire climax chapter of the course of about two to three weeks. It was pretty much procrastinating having to write less action filled chapters because I'm not sure how to write those quite as well, though I'm not exactly a master at writing chapters which have more action in them, either. While I'm here, I would also like to apologize for the length of this chapter, which is about five hundred to one thousand words shorter than those before it. Like I said, I really don't know what to do with less eventful chapters.**

 **With that in mind, I would, once again, like to thank ShiroiKarasuX for reviewing my last chapters. I am very glad that you enjoyed the characterization of the character I am writing in my last chapter, especially as it is something which I have always struggled with! I hope I am able to continue to meet your expectations in that aspect with this chapter and those which follow it (Which might be unlikely, because I have been told that I am less-than-skilled in writing Germany, who is planned to make appearances throughout this series)! P.S. Aw, thank you! That means a lot to me!**

 **Also, I would like to thank my anonymous sister who pre-read and edited both this chapter and the one before it. I forgot to thank you in the last one, but your help is invaluable. Hey, I should call you Wren, so then we can be the two sisters in** _ **Fangirl**_ **because I write really gay FanFiction and you read through my works, even though you have the personality of Cath and I don't really have either personality but am kind of in the middle.**

 **Once again, there are several words in German, this time quite a few, as the focus is on German speaking nations, which have all been translated in the section just above the Author's Note at the bottom of the page. Hopefully, that doesn't distract too much from the story. Additionally, I would like to** **warn** **readers right now that this chapter does include a very blatant insult to a political leader currently in power in the United States of America (I bet you can never guess which one, since it's** _ **totally**_ **not at all obvious). Those of you who know me in person are aware that I am a very political person when it comes to matters which I am passionate about and I have a little bit of difficulty holding back on little jabs at American politics every now and again. I am pretty sure that this one should be the only one in the series, but if this offends you in any way, I do apologize and hope that we are able to move past this. Anyway, thank you for reading, I'm very impressed with you for making it this far! I hope that you enjoy this chapter, short, awkward, and out-of-character as it may be.**

 **Now that all that business has been settled, let us move on to all the awkwardness that is how I write Prussia (Unless you just left because you realized that the person writing this is** _ **far**_ **too strange for your liking and probably isn't capable of writing these characters well anyway):**

The crisp German air that surrounded him was perhaps the greatest relief Prussia had known in years. By the time he reached the familiar doorstep, he had breathed it in thousands of times purely out of relaxation. The air was cool and bit at his ears, which may have irritated others, but was more than a blessing in his mind. To him, there was nothing better than the Likely more than any other time which he could remember, it was absolutely splendid to be outside of Austria. And, yet, he was almost tempted to return. The feeling itself was unusual, almost unexplainable. More than anything he wanted to leave Austria. He _needed_ to leave Austria. In that moment, he was quite sure that he never wanted to return even to the country's border, no matter the circumstances.

And yet, some irking part of his mind would not express any other thought than that he should not be leaving him all on his own.

It was ridiculous, really. By all means, Austria _wanted_ to be alone. He had his piano and his ever present complaints about how little work he could get done with anyone else within twenty meters of his home. And he liked baking, that was something he did. Those pastries, Prussia could never remember their names, only ever their flavors, which he had to admit, were beyond compare and far beyond reproach, were practically the man's pride and joy, next to his music. Besides, there wasn't any real need to worry. All he had seen was a bottle of medication. Medication, meaning that the issue was under control. And it wasn't even an issue anymore, that was the sole purpose of antidepressants. Anything he could possibly have needed to do had already been done. Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. Austria was _fine_.

Prussia reached for the handle of the door, steadily beginning to turn the cold metal of the handle through gloved hands. He smiled, his trademark confident smirk, despite himself. No, there was no need for concern. In a few mere moments he would be inside the house, inside Berlin, merrily drinking a beer with Germany, relaxed as he should be, without a care in the world, forgetting all the regrettable things he spewed just hours ago in what may just have been the most uncomfortable conversation in his life. That was what mattered in that moment. Besides, it wasn't like Austria had ever actually-

He froze, the handle only semi-turned, and his look of joy dropping off his face entirely, replaced one of horrified realization.

Oh, no. _Oh, no._ What if he had? He didn't think - no, it wasn't possible. Austria wouldn't, he _couldn't_ , do anything of the sort. But what if he had? What if he was doing so in that very moment? And he left him _alone_? His head whirled around, eyes met with the trim streets of the German capital city that now seemed to be so far from where he should have been. The brisk air was cool and sharp, and perhaps it carried itself south past the borders, but it wasn't Viennese.

' _Dummkopf!_ ' Prussia silently berated himself. ' _You didn't even check his wrists!_ ' There were, perhaps, a million different ways he could have done so, and then some. Asking, forcefully taking his wrists, falling on the floor by the piano for a better angle, any of them would have been better than stumbling over some garbage about German ballet and leaving, and easier. Oh, so easier.

But, he didn't. He didn't ask, he didn't check, he didn't even think. He didn't do anything and hadn't done anything but worry and criticize his own comments for the near eight hours it took to drive from the two cities. Eight hours. Anything could have happened in that time. His hand tightened around the metallic handle, mind racing with thoughts and ideas. Austria might not be simply playing the piano or baking, or cleaning, he could be-

' _Baking._ ' The louder thought cut those now of lesser importance off with the paralyzing ring of realization. And, with this one in particular, Prussia winced and cursed under his breath, though whether this was out of his distaste for his slowness in coming to this conclusion or the sheer harshness of the idea, he did not know. ' _Mist! Dummkopf, he likes_ baking _! He probably has a thousand knives in his kitchen! Blöd, blöd! How did you not think of that before? He could be doing anything with those!_ '

Some level of panic filled his thoughts, proving to himself through ideas and images that he had a much more vivid imagination than he had previously been led to believe. Even so, whatever sense of realism and sensibility that was still active in his mind pried its way through him to draw his attention to the street before him that was so neat, so modern, so German, and so . . . far from Austrian. It would be nearly eight hours before he would be able to make it back to Vienna. Eight uncertain hours which could change everything or nothing. Either way, going back would change the situation, whether slightly or significantly, as his return would alter Austria's perceptiveness.

Austria wasn't an idiot, and Prussia knew that. It was not difficult to come to the conclusion that a fifteen or sixteen hour difference between trips would mean having gone straight to Berlin and back, and having done so would require a reason. The issue at hand was that the more aware of Prussia's knowledge Austria was, the less he would be willing to utter a single word on the matter, let alone receive any form of help. The younger man's pride was a delicate thing, but it still succeeded in guiding every action and thought that formed in his life, and would certainly act as a barrier between himself and anyone who was so daring as to express concern for him.

The journey would be wasted. For now, he was here, in Berlin, with his brother, who, if anyone, could help.

So, with some level of reluctance, he turned his sights back on the door in front of him, though not before allowing his eyes to linger on the southern landscape, where the colors of the setting sun were beginning to stretch across the darkening sky. Having done so, he briskly turned the door's handle as far as it could rotate and shoved it inward, stepping inside upon the familiar sight of the house's well kept interior.

The area which he had entered was immediately recognizable as a living, and a very traditional one, at that. It was decorated with various items of furniture, most noticeably the chestnut table in its center which, while not polished as Austria would have it, was well kept, despite its wear, and the cream colored fabric of the three sturdy chairs and the one sole couch which surrounded the table comfortably. Though it was too early for interior lighting, several lamps decorated the room, all well prepared to bright light to any visitors of improper hours. And, by the wall, an aging bookshelf, lined with everything from classics to crumpled drafts, unceremoniously shoved between _The Art of War_ and _Relativity: The Special and the General Theory_ , _War and Peace_ and _MacBeth,_ and _The Complete Works of Aristotle_ and a series of manuals on communication. With the room taken in, he made his way through it, across the neat carpet flooring and down a hallway to where the door to the occupied office hung wide open.

Despite his concerns, the change in setting was welcome.

Even more welcome was the sight of his own brother, his not depressed, sensical, logical brother, who always knew exactly what to do. That was it - Germany had to know what to do. He understood people, Austrian people included, especially when it came to mental health, as he was far The only issue was that he couldn't tell his brother about this, not exactly and not now. Difficult as it was to explain, let alone justify, exactly, he doubted that anyone else should know at that point, because Austria was, to put it simply, far too stubborn for his own good. As many walls as the Austrian had already built around himself through years upon years of strict tradition, those would be heavily reinforced if anyone, especially Germany, were to find out that he had any manner of mental illness to speak of.

Austria was, simply, quick to be overwhelmed in such situations, and Prussia had learned from many years of experience that when the Austrian was overwhelmed, he shut himself off from those around him, even more so than he already did. And, frankly, Germany could be a very overwhelming individual. It wasn't his fault, really, he was simply prone to holding great concern and investment in certain situations, but, still, he was not who Austria needed at that particular time. Or, at least, it was not the course of action that would lead to the musician being as calm as possible about having his privacy invaded.

Austria was prideful, at best, and quite fragile in his traditional mindset. To have anyone know of any issue he faced and treat it as such would be viewed by him as the ultimate form of humiliation, which would leave him degraded and resentful of whoever it happened to be who was oh-so-cruel as to offer any form of help. If you were to ask Prussia, it was a rather irritating quality and one of those which he had been less than pleased to learn of as he got to know the Austrian over the years. With that in mind, telling brash, action-orientated Germany who spent some portion of nearly every day worrying about his Austrian neighbor by border was likely not the best course of action, for the time being, anyway. Besides, the whole problem was still in far too early of a stage for Germany to need to know about it. Whether the younger of the German brothers was ever to know about the situation or not, it would not be that day and it would not be anytime soon.

Even so, that did not mean that Prussia could not ask for advice. All he would have to do is let the problem remain inconspicuous and Austria remain anonymous. That was simple enough.

"Hey, West!" Prussia called out to his brother, raising an arm as if making a toast. "You ready for the company of your awesome bruder?"

He received a tired grunt in response. The other simply continued shuffling through papers, groaning under his breath as he continued counting the great number of those incomplete under his breath.

"Of course you are!" Prussia exclaimed, swallowing the brief shakiness that came over him to force more enthusiasm than he felt into his tone, and laughed heartily. "I am me, after all." Now, came the most challenging part - addressing the issue at hand and asking for help without addressing the issue at hand and asking for help. How on earth was he supposed to do that? What was he supposed to say? The whole situation was so perplexing that he swore his head would be in danger of exploding by the end of the day.

Prussia strolled the short distance across the hardwood floors to his apparently irritated brother. He dropped himself onto the cushion next to the other Germanic on the couch and sighed in content, spreading his arms and legs as far as the could stretch before finally resting both arms on the back ledge, which was comfortable in its velveteen material. "You know, of course, that I am a very awesome bruder, so I'll tell you what - I'm going to help you out." He announced suavely. Upon Germany's eventual head turn and look of exasperated confusion, he continued. "I know you have all this boring stuff to do and that sucks. All you really need to know is how to keep people happy, am I right? So, I'm going to make sure you do and then you won't have to do any of that stupid stuff!"

Germany raised an eyebrow in silent criticism and turned back to his work. However, Prussia paid this act of disinterest little mind.

"So, _hypothetically_ ," He began, bringing one arm from where it rested behind the coach to make a gesture that looked vaguely similar to a shrug, except for, of course, its flair and use of the entire arm, as well as the hand, which he revolved circularly once as if that would emphasize the word to his liking. "Let's say there is this someone, he is not me because he is a loser and I am not, and he knows this guy, who is also a loser, but he's even more of a loser than the first guy, let's say . . . oh, I don't know, let's say he's a musician. And this musician is . . . well, let's just say that he's really unhappy. And this guy is so unhappy that he, I don't know, gets some pills for it. What do you think the first guy-who-isn't-me should do?"

"Gilbert, what are you talking about?" Germany asked wearily, looking up from his papers once more to deal with his brother's antics.

"I'm helping you with your people so you don't have to do all that silly paperwork, of course!"

Germany did not say anything for quite some time, staring in silence at the papers in front of him. Eventually, however, he sighed, and focused his attention formally on his brother. "That's called depression, Gilbert," He clarified wearily at last. "And if he's taking medication for it then that might be the best thing to do. Even so, his friend - or whoever the first person is - shouldn't leave him be with just the pills. I would recommend therapy sessions if he can afford it, and spending time with close friends or family."

"So, what if this person is such a prick that no one really talks to them?"

"Well, it could be nothing, but if you're sure they have an issue and they're isolated from others like you say they are, it's probably more serious."

"And, uh, what do people like that usually do then? You know, people kinda like . . . let's say, Roddy, he seems kind of like the musician, I guess they do both like music, who do that."

Germany turned to look at his brother with peaked interest, concern, and confusion apparent through his facial expression. "Is Roderich suffering from depression? Is that why you're so interested in this?"

"What?" Prussia all but screeched, internally cursing his phrasing and lack of subtlety, as well as his brother's ability to be perceptive. "No, of course not! Do you really think I came here just to talk about that stupid priss? He's happy as long as he has his music; what does he has to be depressed about?" The question was meant to come off as rhetorical, and it did, but once it was asked, he found himself rather eager to hear any possible answers which his brother might have. Maybe the younger knew something which he didn't, and, given the circumstances, definitely wanted to.

"Hm," Germany mumbled, his voice seeming to grit across the floor with its low sound. "That would make sense if he did. I don't think he's seen anyone besides you since the last World Meeting and that was over two months ago. He gets lost so easily that I normally like him to stay inside, but if this is unhealthy, I'll have to contact him about this."

"Hey!" Prussia exclaimed, a little too defensively for his own liking. "I said this isn't about him because this isn't about him! West, I talked to him earlier, he's _fine_. He isn't depressed - he's _Roderich_. He's too prideful to let himself be depressed." That was a lie. It was a lie so large that it, despite coming from who it did, was almost painful to say, and he knew it. But, it sounded convincing and that was all he needed it to do. At the very least, there was _some_ truth in it. He had talked to Austria earlier, but all he had really said was that he had a headache and that there was beer in the fridge.

A headache. Was that something to worry about? It hadn't occurred to him earlier, but every possibility was worth considering at the moment. Maybe it was a side-effect of the medication. If it was, were there any others? If there were, had they been obvious the entire visit but he was too oblivious to notice? And how many were there? Five? Ten? Twenty? There had to be specific side-effects for the brand. What was it? Something about wells, or started with "Well," he thought. Wellbutrin, that was it! He made a mental note to remember to investigate the brand and its side-effects later.

"Alright, if you say so," Germany agreed hesitantly. "Even so, I'll have to speak to him about his habits later. I've been so busy that I haven't thought about it recently, but being so distanced is concerning."

"Don't worry about it!" Prussia insisted. It may have been the most hypocritical command he had issued in weeks, considering how he had spent the last few hours of his time. However, any chance he had at talking through the situation with Austria would be obliterated if Germany tried talking about depression with him out of concern. Yes, his brother would be doing so with good intentions, but the last thing he needed was an even more defensive Austrian. "Being alone's never bothered him before, why should it start now?"

Germany did not agree with this statement, nor did he disagree, verbally, at least. Instead, he simply grunted and looked down at the stack of papers which rested on the metal side table to his left, not moving them or continuing his work on them, but simply staring in what appeared to be deep thought, eyebrows threaded in concern.

"But, uh, you really think that those kind of pills are okay, you know, for that?"

Germany turned back, a confused expression plastered on his face. "Of course." He responded simply, in a voice which subtly provoked disbelief that anyone could possibly be of, or at least expect him to have a different opinion.

"I mean, I don't think he is, but if he was," Prussia continued, swallowing uncomfortably, and trying his very hardest to not demand an answer immediately and reveal both his knowledge and fears at once. When his voice returned, it had lowered in volume, if only to emphasize the seriousness of the idea he was implying. "And he was taking those, would you really be okay with that?"

His brother said nothing at first. He only stared at the elder, eyes unmoving and unreadable, though they felt as though they themselves were attempting to read what the other was trying to hide. The silence lasted for more time than Prussia would have liked. In his mind, it felt like hours, but, logically, he guessed it was under a minute.

"I wouldn't like it," Germany admitted, at last, the words sounding as though they were difficult to speak as a result of a topic which was difficult to think about. "But I would be glad that he was getting help.

He paused, before continuing with a question.

"Would you?"

"I don't know," Prussia answered decidedly with an anxious shrug, hesitating before speaking again to choose his next words carefully. "I guess I never really thought about it."

"I never wanted to. I suppose no one really wants to think about the people they're close to dealing with something like that."

"It's not awesome."

A deep sigh escaped the younger Germanic's lips. It was tired, but not over sleep nor work. "No, it isn't."

"Yeah," Prussia muttered after another stretch of quietness than ran throughout the house. "I know." He did know. At the moment, he knew so well that it was practically painful. It would have been startling to find anyone doing such things as a result of such issues, but Austria - Austria was another story altogether. Out of all people, he never would have suspected the snarky, prideful, yet somehow also polite musician to be the one to have to do anything of the sort. And now that he knew, practically everything else he had once thought he knew had changed. He didn't even know what to think of the man anymore. The whole catastrophe was like having to be reintroduced to someone he had lost all grasp of the very concept of, and yet it also him more familiar in the sense that his mind continued to force him to relive every moment he had ever spent even remotely with the other in search of evidence he might have missed, and thoughts were no longer processed with the silly nicknames he assigned to the Austrian, but with ' _Roderich, who has no reason to be depressed because I'm right there and should have said something if he was this upset.'_ which was an unfair thought in itself, and he supposed some part of him knew that, but he had little interest in entertaining that part at the moment. Was he supposed to act differently around Austria? It wasn't as though he could simply tease a depressed man in good conscience, but if he didn't, his change in actions would be met with suspicion by the musician, and, considering the conversation he had previously had with the other, increased suspicion was the last thing he needed from him.

"So," Prussia began, breaking the stream of silence that had flowed between the two of them, coughing with the last of his conversational awkwardness. "About that help, I was very kindly offering you . . ."

"This really isn't helping my schedule." Germany sighed, a hint of amusement hidden in the quick glimpse of a smile Prussia managed to catch in the few seconds for which it existed, as he.

"Of course it is, silly West!"

"Gilbert-"

"Don't worry about it! There is no need to thank me!"

"That really isn't what I was going to say."

"Yes, the awesome me would do anything for his awesome bruder!"

"I'm sure, but I am still very busy."

"Not once your boss knows that I, the awesome Prussia, have given you all the help you need!

"Maybe a century ago, Gilbert, but she's already tired with leading the rest of the people remaining in the European Union and calming everyone she can after America decided to be even more of a dummkopf than he normally is and make his boss a businessman who apparently can't say anything that won't offend someone. There's simply too much to do; I doubt your recommendation will change my work schedule."

"You're no fun! Put some faith in your brother!"

"I really don't think faith in your abilities is the issue here."

"Of course it is! What else would it be?"

"Does the current political situation mean anything to you?"

Prussia scowled, opening his mouth to respond, when a screeching ring cut through the otherwise silent house, breaking the conversation which had been shared between the two, leaving Prussia's mouth open in the act of forming a retort which was now interrupted before it had truly began by the sound of an incoming call. Both the German brothers' heads turned toward the noise, with varying degrees of care upon their face - one looking mildly irritated and the other, having assumed the caller, appeared as though he suddenly, and nervously, realized how much he had to do elsewhere. The younger headed toward the phone sat on the table, picking it up swiftly. He accepted the call without checking for the identification of the caller and held the object to his ear, waiting for a voice on the other end.

"Hello." He called nonchalantly into the device as soon as he was met by a greeting on the other line. "Roderich? Ja. Ja, he is. Why do you want to speak to Gilbert?"

Germany focused his sights on the couch once more in search of his brother, but Prussia was out the door and down the street before another word was spoken.

 **Translations:**

 **Dummkopf - Idiot or fool, it is a general term for someone who is stupid, but directly translates to "stupid head"**

 **Mist - Crap**

 **Blöd - Stupid**

 **Bruder - Brother**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Ah, this was both lovely and painful to write! I'm both pleased and sorry to have done this to my readers (Who am I kidding? I don't have readers. I have about two people, including my sister, who read my work: let's be honest). It has taken over a month, but this conflicting chapter is finally out and I'm not sure whether I'm proud of that or not. This is going to be a very short note. Essentially, once again, I'm sorry if my political statement, as shown here: "Maybe a century ago, Gilbert, but she's already tired with leading the rest of the people remaining in the European Union and calming everyone she can after America decided to be even more of a dummkopf than he normally is and made his boss a businessman who apparently can't say anything that won't offend someone," offended you. However, Germany has been rather open about its opposition toward America's current president, so perhaps you would be willing to pass it off as Germany just being tired and honest about his feelings toward his work situation.**

 **Reader: "But, if it's so bad, why don't you just delete it before publishing this?**

 **. . .**

 **Well, shoot.**

 **The answer to that question, dear reader, is that I'm a terrible, pessimistic person who's been known to be kind of a jerk in pushing my complaints about our political situation onto others. I'm sorry about the way I am. It's bad, I know. You came here for angst-filled PruAus and you got offended. I know, I'm sorry. To be fair, seeing as the show is literally about countries and their issues, I have a bit of an excuse to be political and I just** _ **really**_ **don't like Trump, but still, sorry about that.**

 **In conclusion, thank you very much for reading this chapter! I really do hope you enjoyed it and weren't too bothered about what I had to say about the leading politician in the United States of America. Ah, I'm going to get people to hate me very soon, am I not? Anyway, hopefully, I'll be able to get the next chapter out sooner than I got this one out and I'll be able to write it well enough so that you'll be able to enjoy it!**

 **~Aleberle**


	4. Chapter 3

**Hello, my wonderful readers. Ah, how good it feels to be writing again after such a long break! Speaking of this long break, I am sorry for taking so long. It was partially because I like my editor and require her advice, but she is busy with high school, so, for quite some time, this was essentially done, but not edited, but mostly because I have a terrible tendency to procrastinate, especially whilst I am on vacation. I actually had this chapter just about done before I left for vacation, but my schedule just got so filled that I struggled to have time to make adjustments based around the comments of my editor. On this vacation, I was able to attend a writing camp at a local college, so, hopefully, my writing will only continue to improve. Fortunately, as I see it, at least, I do very much enjoy writing this story, so I have absolutely no intentions of abandoning it and certainly every intention of working on it until I complete it, though that may take a while. Of course, thank you very much to all of those who read my last chapter! I'm impressed - as of right now, that's forty-one of you who actually took the time to read what I have to write! What else might I say, but "Thank you"? As per usual, there are a few - or more than a few, possibly a larger number than I would like - parts of this chapter which I'm not entirely satisfied with, but am not exactly sure how to change to fit my liking either, that all seemed to get past my editor. Knowing that I am not especially fond of some of these parts, I doubt that all of you will be especially fond of some of these parts, so, please, let me apologize for that in advance. Whereas, with the earlier chapters, I had an exact plan for every event of the chapter in advance, this chapter was mostly just me writing what I wanted to without too strict of a plan, so I'm not exactly sure how well that actually worked out nor whether I should try writing without an especially strict script again in the future, so, if that is very noticeable and you disliked that, I apologize for that as well.**

 **As is also per usual, I would like to thank ShiroiKarasuX for being so kind as to review my last chapter. I am very glad that you were able to enjoy my work and I sincerely appreciate your comments! I'm also very glad that you don't mind my occasional usage of German words and my little jab last chapter! Coincidentally, German is in the process of becoming my second language as well. I'm not entirely fluent, and won't be for quite some time, but I'm working on it. Thank you very much for pointing out that sentence! I went back and finished it as soon as I was able, so, hopefully, that paragraph makes more sense now.**

 **Additionally, don't worry, I'm not bothered by how many readers I do or do not have. It makes me happy enough to be able to write at all, I just like to make fun of myself. You know, my sister, who is also my editor, was just telling me close to the same thing about my style of writing - though she was using it to point out that Prussia seems a little out of character, which I very much appreciate. I hope you don't mind. Would it be better for me to try and change it?**

 **Thank you for your comments, and please, do have a wonderful day as well.**

 **As per usual, there are several words in German scattered about the story, all of which have translations at the bottom of the page, just above the A/N and geographical information. There isn't too much of it this chapter, but, still, there is some. Once again, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this chapter and I will follow it with another as soon as I am able. Thank you.**

There were several things which Prussia had learned since desperately fleeing his brother's house in an attempt to avoid suspicious questioning regarding ballet. The first was that, sooner or later, he would have to return to Vienna. Whether he wanted to or not, there was very little chance that he would learn anything about the situation from a city over seven hours from the Austrian border. Besides, his sudden disappearance, while appreciated, might also be viewed as suspicious.

The second was that there were far more symptoms for those Wellbutrin tablets than he had originally thought. While they ranged from slight to severe and common to rare, it seemed the general range of commonly reported side-effects included a bunch of different symptoms. Among these was, as he had suspected, headaches, as well as insomnia, which, while he had not predicted it initially, did explain Austria's clear lack of sleep when they had conversed prior to his discovery. Most of the list were symptoms that were to be expected from nearly any medication - though, in all honesty, he couldn't remember half of them. Well, that may have been because he may have only read the first few sentences of the online page and one or two of the symptoms, but, to his credit, he had read _some_ of the website's content, and he was pretty sure that the rest of what it had to say would be just about the same, so, he had probably read more than enough. Besides, most of it was impressively dull and he hardly had the patience to read through that garbage. So, he really hadn't read all that much, but he did remember three of the symptoms - though he had shoved all the remaining words from his bored mind entirely - headaches, insomnia, and . . . what was that last one? He could have sworn that he had remembered it a few minutes ago. Weight loss, was that it? Yeah, that sounded right. He wasn't especially sure that he really thought that losing much weight would be very healthy for the already frail Austrian, but this was slightly less worrying than the rest of what he had to focus on.

The third, which he supposed he already knew, but had never fully processed, was that, not only because of the rare side-effects of the medication, there was a chance, however slim, that Austria might actually attempt suicide, and there was also a chance that it could work. For many years, he had gotten by assuming that nations, such as he had once been, could not successfully take their own lives because they were fully functioning nations with duties to fulfill and people to care for, and had never questioned this, mostly because he had no need to. He, himself, had never even remotely considered such things. They had never even crossed his mind. His bloated ego worked as protection against those kinds of thoughts, and it performed that task very well. But, apparently, other nations had. As it had been explained to him by his younger brother, it seemed that the act of suicide by a nation would effectively shatter its government, leaving the land to be claimed by bordering countries and the surviving members of the lost country would declare their citizenship until they passed away, leaving the land which was once their home to be remembered only by history books. It was a miserable process which had only been successfully completed once, according to a journal left behind by Germania, which Germany had apparently kept on a shelf for several years. The nation which had done so was not specified by name, but a very detailed account was given of its final collapse into the ages. According to said journal, it was, understandably, much more difficult to destroy a nation than a mortal, as, while a mortal controlled only a single life, a nation controlled many, even millions, and while abolishing the government was quick by comparison, the process of finally losing a nation was far more tedious, as every last person they had ever housed had to either die or become a citizen of another nation. Only then would they be truly lost.

This meant a very long stretch of time spent lying about in the critical care section of a hospital, waiting to taken by the hand of death, which seemed desirable by comparison. This could take decades, and would leave whichever nation had come to such a point in their lifespan not only suffering great, irreversible physical damage, but an all but obliterated mental condition, which worsened rapidly by the second. From the account recorded in the journal, many of the nations who existed at the time of the suicide had falsely believed that attempting any such thing would leave a nation manic and crazed, screaming in constant agony as a result of the insufferable pain caused by the panicked state of their people and government. Germania reported being skeptical of this idea, but wrote that he admitted to having seen what little logic there was to be found in it. However, he also wrote that every one of those who came to visit the unnamed nation were proven drastically wrong and never again uttered a single word of the idea. After that, he wrote the following entry:

" _I led myself to believe, before that day, that I knew very well the face of defeat - how it felt, how it looked, and every possible aspect there was to know of it. As I came, along with many others - though we all visited him at separate times for fear of manic delusions being spread, which was common belief among us at the time - to see that once proud land, I knew myself to be wrong in thinking so, and I will carry this knowledge with me for the rest of my days, not only to think above further foolish delusions, but that I could not forget that sight, nor the experience altogether, if I chose to. I may live for thousands of years to come, but I will never forget those hollowed, broken eyes. Some miserable part of my thinking mind will always be devoted to the indestructible silence that passed between us and the few looks he sent me - each revealing to me eyes which I am certain might have, at one time, been pleading, but had lost any and all hope of salvation before anyone could reach him. I do not remember precisely what I did that day, but I do remember the unmistakable feeling that there was nothing which I could do to save him. There were no words which could bring him comfort, no songs which could bring him joy, no news which could bring him triumph, and no action which could be taken to bring him back from the deep abyss he had lost himself to. This was a battle which could not be won. It took but a single glance to know that this man had died long before he drew his musket to his temple. He had put forth a valiant effort and I truly believe that there was no remote possibility of any creature fighting harder than he did, but, as any noble ruler would, he came to realize that surrender was the only thing to do. He was not like Rome, nor was he like the weak and terrified nations who bore white flags at all times. He had nothing to fear, and he was prepared - no, he was longing - for whatever fate would come to him at the hands of the enemy. There was nothing they could have done to him that would be worse than allowing him to live, and he was no longer willing to take that risk. He was not ashamed of his defeat, he accepted it, not with pride, but with misery and torment that would perhaps never leave him be, following him to the ends of the Earth in relentless cruelty, unless he took this final stand in standing down. No one, despite what impressive stature or wealth they may possess, has any right to mock him for the final hours of his fight."_

The next two pages were devoted entirely to describing in greater detail the extent of the lifelessness that the lost nation displayed just before his final dissolution, and the scene was scattered throughout the rest of the journal through brief mentions and references. It was an interesting account on its own. Then, he decided to picture Austria matching the description of this nation of the past - lifeless and defeated, all sense of hope and energy drained from his eyes, which once were vivid in their impressive shade of violet.

Suddenly, he found himself much less eager to continue reading.

He had rarely ever taken interest in the Austrian. In fact, it was not at all odd for him to go out of his way to avoid the man once known as his rival, even enemy, if you will. It would be a lie to say that the musician did not irritate him. Yes, he was much less likely to be at all aggravated in the present day, as opposed to several centuries ago, but it still happened from time to time. There were days when he would rather engage in a conversation with Russia than listen to that dignified stubbornness and refined disgust that dripped from his every word. Even so, he found himself surprisingly uncomfortable with the idea of Austria simply giving up in such a way. That was how it worked, they got under each other's skin, they irritated each other, some days just because it kept them alive, but it really only worked if the other responded to his teasing. Sure, Austria wasn't the best physical fighter, and hadn't been for several centuries, but that didn't mean he was allowed to just . . . _give up_ without so much as a fight.

The very thought of those eyes defeated so easily was repulsive in its own sense - its own unique sense that was completely different from absolutely everything else. It was just _wrong._ Austria wouldn't do that. It wasn't like him. The Austrian he had imagined wasn't the one he had spent centuries fighting with and it wasn't the one he knew.

That, and his rather questionable excuses, was the reason that he had avoided visiting the city of Vienna since he had took it upon himself to root through the Austrian's medicine cabinet. Prussia had been avoiding Germany because of the phone call. Either one or both of the other two Germanics were likely to be irritated with him for that. As happy as Germany was to be able to get his work done in peace, he wasn't especially fond of his brother disappearing for more than a few days, and Prussia was fairly certain that he had been out for about a week. He couldn't be entirely sure, as he had spent this time about evenly between visiting France and visiting Spain, before eventually, all three immortals came to stay at some hotel near the French-Italian border in some town - it might have been Chamonix - and both of those two _certainly_ had strong alcohol, as well as a tendency to not remind him how many drinks he had consumed and when to stop. He did not doubt that he would have to raid both of their phones later to figure out exactly how he had spent that week, or what he thought was a week, at least. If it was, in fact, Chamonix, there was little to no chance that the time he was away wasn't longer than he had managed to convince himself it was. Out of all the wonderful skills which he was a self-proclaimed master at, even he had to admit that keeping track of time under the heavy consumption of alcohol - _strong_ alcohol especially - was not among those.

Personally, he didn't really mind, and he would continue to not be bothered should any number of those pictures be uploaded to the internet. Nothing he could do was something to be ashamed of. Or, well, almost nothing, that is. In fact, he was sure that he would be pleased to see the photographs of himself. After all, not just anyone could accomplish what he could under the influence of alcohol, or even at all. His only real concern was that he had said something. Something about Austria. After all, control over himself was not one of his strong suits under the influence of champagne and sherry, so it wouldn't be the first time he had shared private information to the pair. And, if there was one thing he had ever learned from this, it was that France could not, under any circumstances, be trusted with private information.

If experience had taught him as well as he would like to think it had, he needed to end access to the information before it was ensured. That was why, after roughly a week, give or take a few days, Prussia found himself driving the long distance to Vienna. He didn't know what exactly he was going to do there, nor what he was going to say, but he did know that he needed to make certain that Austria did not discover that he was aware of the situation.

Well, maybe he wasn't aware of the _entire_ situation, and that was what bothered him the most. Maybe it came from the centuries he had spent leading soldiers and facing war, but if there was anything he couldn't stand, it was knowing that something was worryingly askew without any of the specifics. He didn't know if this was just a result of Hungary or someone else relentlessly advising him to try out the medication, just to be safe, which would mean that the situation was much less severe than he had expected if someone else knew about it, as that would mean that Austria would have been willing to share this with someone, or if he had acted on it and sought out medication in a desperate attempt to regain his sense of dignity only once it had gone much too far in acting on it. For all he knew, the Austrian could have been acting on it in that very moment. And he didn't like that in the least.

Then again, it could be the remaining influence of last night's round of drinks. They still clung to his mind and had taken it under control, burning it from the inside out. The pain had dulled significantly, now no more than an irritable throbbing, but the earlier hours of the morning had been another story. If he hadn't been under near identical circumstances more times than he cared to even attempt counting.

He was vaguely aware, as he passed by a sky-blue sign, which looked very much like the flag of the European Union, that stated " _Republik Osterreich,"_ that Germany would be greatly irritated if he discovered that his brother was driving, especially such long distances, so soon after drinking. But, he hadn't drunk in what must have been at least ten hours, and he had been doing this a very long time. Surely, his experience added to the circumstances to create a reasonable excuse, did they not? Either way, the younger German did, by no means, have to know of that day's events, nor did he have any plans to make him aware of them.

There was a possibility that Germany was already messaging him, as his phone seemed to vibrate every few seconds to alert Prussia of a new message, but those messages might have been from Hungary, seeing as she would certainly leap at the chance to save any pictures France had posted and send them back to him as a form of revenge for the last time he had made her life better. Well, _she_ didn't feel that her life had been made better, but what did she know?

After some number of minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road some halfway through Salzburg, where a smaller drugstore was sat. There had to be some bottled water inside, expensive as it surely was. Besides, whatever it cost was worth the taste, not that he would ever admit it to Austria. Though he would never give voice to this opinion, the water Austria took from the Alps was _good_. Almost good enough to buy a keg of and take it back to Germany. It was weird to think that water, of all things, had any particular taste, but the Austrian and his tourists were right on this one. Yes, Switzerland also had access to the water of the Alps as well, but he wasn't exactly welcome there. Something about him looking at Liechtenstein for too long. Whether he did or not, the man was paranoid over his sister.

' _He must have gotten pretty lonely after he kicked the priss out,_ ' Prussia thought to himself as he strolled through the cheap doors of the building. ' _Now, he's all over his sister. It's his fault. Obviously, I can handle being alone - that's what makes me so awesome. But, if you don't want to be, don't go kicking people out. And the priss thinks_ I'm _the idiot._ ' He glanced around the isles of food items and souvenirs which were labeled as double what they were worth. As expected, there was a large refrigerator in the back, which took up almost the entire back wall. In it were stacks and stacks of beverages, most of them alcoholic. He was almost tempted to take one of those, but his pounding headache suggested otherwise. Instead, pulled open the door to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water with a label depicting the Alps. With the bottle in hand, he shut the door, and made his way toward the counter.

"That will be two Euros," The man relaxed into a worn chair behind the counter, an adolescent, informed him with an edge in his tone that, Prussia knew very well, was derived from having to deal with America's ridiculous tourists. "Do you need me to convert that into American dollars for you?"

"Nein," Prussia replied with a small smirk, emphasizing his accent as much as was possible, as he placed the coins on the counter and began his way out with his drink. "Ich weiß was Euro sind."

The younger man, though visibly somewhat surprised, seemed pleased to hear his own language, and waved the former nation off with a much cheerier farewell in said language. Prussia's immediate response was to shout the same goodbye, with unnecessary volume, as he headed out onto the streets, which, while irritating, received, more or less, the same level of appreciation as his other words had.

Just as the doors to the shop closed behind him, a loud vibrating stopped Prussia from going any farther. He rummaged through his coat's pockets until his hands met his phone, which he promptly yanked out. Once he could view the screen, he turned the device on to see Spain's image and name taking up a prominent portion of the phone, as well as two buttons allowing him to either accept or decline the call. Naturally, he accepted, and pulled the phone to his ear.

"The awesome Prussia speaking!" Prussia sang into the phone, grinning at the heavily accented laugh he received in response.

"Hola, mi amigo!" The Spaniard called back, the recognizable cheer ever present in his voice. "Where did you go? We were having so much fun! Does your leaving have anything to do with us running out of things to drink?"

"Ja, I know! But, I have to make sure Roddy doesn't get lonely without me. And tell Francis to buy more drinks - German drinks. Something like beer, but more awesome!"

"I hate to break it to you, but I don't think he will," Spain teased, his playfulness infectious, as was common with the Spaniard. "And no way! Next time, we're getting Spanish drinks. You know those are the best!"

" _What_? Now you're just being mean! Of course, he will! Who wouldn't miss me? And my beer? You know it's better than your crap."

"I don't think so, Gilbert, but Francis is lonely enough for the two of you. Well, I'd like to think that's what it is. He's so whiny, Gil!"

"Of course he is! He's Francis. Tell him to find some girl at the airport to bother."

A knowing laugh sounded from the other line. "That'll give me about five minutes! And Lovino's upset about your brother again, so he'll kill me if I try to make company out of him."

"Take his stuff and leave. And West is a million times more awesome than Lovino is."

"And leave Lovino by himself? No way, he'll kill me!"

"You need to find a better boyfriend who can make up his mind about what to kill you over, Toni!"

"Now, he's going to kill you for calling him that!"

"Hey, I'm Prussia! I can take him! I'm not scared of some little Italian!"

"Yeah, I used to think that, too. Did you know that tomatoes can be pretty good weapons? Mi amigo, they hurt!"

"Not as good as beer bottles!"

"In that case, I'll have to carry one with me!"

"That's why you drink beer! It's great as a drink and a weapon!"

"That's not happening, Gil. Check your Facebook."

"My Facebook? Why? Is there a new fan page for me?"

"Not yet, but there are about a million pictures from last night."

"What are the pictures of? Obviously, they are awesome, because they have me in them, but what am I doing?"

"You might want to check it out yourself. I deleted all the really bad ones from Francis' phone."

"Those are the fun ones!"

"Not with these ones. Elizabeta's going to be hounding you for months!"

"As if I'm going to be scared by a little Hungarian who played maid for half her life!"

"That's not what you said when she got that skillet."

"Shut up, Toni, I can take it."

"Just wait until you find her waiting for you with Roderich."

"Hey, that priss has an effect on her. She knows he hates violence, so she'll hardly touch me in that old house. I don't know what it is, but she's been intent on pleasing him for centuries. He's a pansy, but at least he's good for something."

"Hey, he's not a bad guy, Gil. Sure, he's not very fun, but he's nice if you can work at his pace."

"You're only saying that because you married him."

"No, he left me with Lovino."

"You hated him for that!"

"I appreciate it now!"

"Lovino sucks, Toni."

"Hey, he's nice once you get to know him!"

"Yeah, I've known him for almost half the time I've been alive and he's not getting any nicer."

"You're just being mean to him."

"Only because he was mean first! You introduced me to him when he was a kid and the little brat threw fruit at my head! And don't say that's a kid thing because I don't remember West ever being like that."

"You need to stop picking up my calls when you know I'm visiting Lovino. One day, he's going to hear you, and I'm going to be in trouble."

"It's your fault for calling me. I'll check Facebook once I get to Vienna. You know I can't leave Roddy waiting."

"Alright, amigo, get ready for some sangria the next time you come!"

The audio clicked shut, cutting off the Spaniard's friendly chuckle. Prussia snorted to himself, muttering the absurdity of trying Spanish alcohol over German beer and wine under his breath. He clicked the power button to his phone and shoved it back into his coat's pocket, where it belonged, before heading toward his car.

Once he resumed driving, it was several hours before he even reached Saint Pölten and another two before he had made it to Vienna, by which point he had done his best to push the Austrian's situation out of his mind, though that was not saying much. It wouldn't have been so long if the traffic hadn't suddenly blown up and left him practically stranded in a stream of vehicles inhabited by weary tourists and irritated Austrians. Unfortunately, this left him with a lot of time to do nothing but think.

' _This is all the fault of that stupid aristocrat,_ ' Prussia thought to himself irritably. ' _If he played better music on the radio, I wouldn't have to do this._ ' Even as he silently condemned him, Prussia's thoughts were still drawn to the pianist. It was oddly frustrating and suddenly made him all the eager to escape from the cage of vehicles which surrounded him and get to where he was going. What right did Austria have to invade his thoughts like that? It wasn't _his_ fault that the aristocrat couldn't keep himself from depression. At least, he thought it wasn't.

He hoped it wasn't.

In fixing his mind on another subject, he realized that he had no idea what he planned to say once he got to the ancient house in the center of Vienna. And he was certainly _not_ going to say anything about ballet this time. It wasn't like he could just walk up to him and announce " _Hey, when I was supposed to be drinking your sucky beer a week - at least, I think it was a week - ago, I actually raided your personal belongings and found your depression medication hiding behind your other belongings in the medicine cabinet. What's going on, since I know that, from my years of experience with you, you_ love _sharing personal information, especially with me?_ " He snorted at the idea. Yeah, like Austria would open up to _that_.

What Austria would definitely do, however, was ask questions. He could lie about the usual questions well enough - how he got into the house, why he was in the house, when he was leaving, whether or not there was anywhere else he could be, and others of the sort - but it might be more difficult if his last visit was brought up, especially if that particular event brought about new questions. There wasn't much that he couldn't handle on its own, but something was wrong.

Before then, he would have gleefully leaped at the chance of banter with the Austrian. There would have been hardly anything which he could have enjoyed more than a battle of the sharpened tongues with him, a verbal competition founded entirely upon their need to best one another. But now, something just felt . . . off. Before, it was fine - they were both aware of the strength of one another and knew the other could handle whatever came flying at him - but Austria, who was commonly the far wittier victor of these battles, seemed fragile in a way that he hadn't ever seemed before. Every time Prussia looked at him, it was like looking at someone entirely different. Yes, he looked the same, but Prussia's understanding of the man had shifted so drastically that he might as well have been replaced by America. It was like playing a sporting game of the hunter and the hunted - but how could he be expected to shoot a deer with a wounded leg, no matter how proud the stag?

His hands tightened on the leather-skinned steering wheel. How had Austria managed to make this more frustrating than any cynical words spat between them or battles fought during even the most brutal of wars? Perhaps, Prussia should have suspected something like this from the pianist, but he never would have imagined that he would have been caught so off-guard, nor that he would be forced to actually _plan_ what to say. It was just like him, too. If he knew what he was doing, he would surely have been so pleased to know the inner confliction he was causing his former rival. Everything was perfectly fine up until then. Sure, he wasn't a nation anymore, which wasn't ideal, but times were peaceful and safe, and everyone was absolutely _fine_ \- prideful and competitive as ever, but he had been fine.

Austria had been fine.

Yet, now his bloated ego just _had_ to see to it that everything was turned upside down entirely. And he couldn't _do_ anything about it other than sit and watch. He could know about it, but he was prevented from taking any sort of action altogether. It was like being at a museum that had absolutely everything labeled with the words " _Look; don't touch._ "

Just as soon as he was drawn into them, he found himself pulled out of his thoughts as he approached the house in which Austria was certainly located. He adjusted the wheel just enough to turn the correct amount and pulled up to the house. As the vehicle came to a halt, the engine silencing, he hesitated. He could go in, to find something to say to Austria, or he could turn the car around and head to his brother's home in Berlin, where he would be welcomed without question as a result of his brother's weariness.

He didn't feel like driving another seven hours to a different city, so he undid his seatbelt and shoved the door open. Once he stepped outside of the car, he swiftly marched across the stone pathway to the familiar door. He didn't need to knock. No, he never did. If he wasn't wrong, Austria was still heavily irritated that he had stolen one of his spare keys, but they both knew well that having the locks changed would require money which Austria was not willing to pay. Besides, he knew how to break down a window if he needed to, and, if he was to be honest, he could probably still find a way to get himself a copy of any new key which the Austrian found it in himself to purchase.

Instead of resorting to such methods, he fished through his coat's pockets until he stumbled upon the key, which he pulled out and hastily shoved into the keyhole. With very little effort, he turned the metal object to its side, listening with a feeling he could not describe as he heard the lock wordlessly inform him that it had been undone. With that, he brashly pushed the door in, fully anticipating the burst of chilled air which, as per usual, emerged from the abode's inside.

There was no going back now. With or without any valid reason, he was stepping inside the Austrian's home and soon heard the surviving echo of the door's return to its frame behind him reach his ears. As he did so, the sound of the soft crashing of the wood was met with the delicate tapping of piano keys, a mere accident greeted by melodic perfection. He had to admit, the sound was nice, even if he wasn't one for classical music himself. Keeping this in mind, it seemed that there was only one thing which he deemed appropriate to do. A wide grin stretched across his face, which he angled to be facing the top of the familiar stairwell.

"Hey, Roddy!" He called from the landing, his voice echoing through the small area and, undoubtedly reaching the simple room from which the music poured like rain water from. "Did you miss me?"

 **Translations:**

 **German:**

 **Nein - No**

 **Ich weiß was Euro sind. - I know what Euros are.**

 **Spanish:**

 **Hola, mi amigo! - Hello, my friend!**

 **Mi amigo - My friend**

 **Amigo - Friend**

 **Geographical Information (Which I'm almost entirely sure you won't need, but is here so that you don't have to look up where every place I mention in the off chance that you would genuinely like to know where all of this is taking place):**

 **The entire ride from Chamonix - a town very close to the border between Spain and France - to Vienna is about eleven hours, presuming there is good traffic. Also, Saint Pölten is an Austrian city which is just over two hour's drive from Salzburg and just under an hour's drive from Vienna, once again, with good traffic. Additionally, the drive between Berlin and Vienna is about seven and a half hours on a good day.**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thank you so much for reading, if you managed to make it this far! Once again, I would like to apologize for both the long wait and the rather calmed events of this chapter. I would like to keep this chapter rather slow-paced for the purpose of transitioning into the next part of the story, though I'm afraid this one is pretty uninteresting as a result of that. If it makes you feel any better, I have many more eventful chapters planned - one or two of these are actually nearly entirely written just because I got so excited about writing them - for the future. As per usual, I do hope that you enjoyed this chapter, nevertheless, and I will do my utmost to** _ **significantly**_ **quicken the breaks between chapters.**

 **~Aleberle**


	5. Chapter 4

**Hello, my lovely readers! Ha, what'd I say about getting the next chapter out quicker? Okay, I'm going, to be honest - I'm pretty sure that you know what I'm going to say here if you've made it this far. Of course, I am very grateful for your taking the time to read my work. With depressingly little shame, I'm going to admit that I'm feeling too lazy to make a giant note right here, so, to summarize, please, enjoy the work, accept that Prussia is an idiot and will get better as the story progresses (No, most of his internal thoughts are not shared by me and many of them pain me to write, but he is, after all, a pretty massive idiot, you can't honestly deny that.), and know that the one singular word which is in German will be translated at the bottom of the page, just above the A/N. Also, my sister is amazing for editing my work and leaving silly comments - most of which either involve shipping or pointing out how much of an utter idiot Prussia is - all over my Google Document. Thanks, unidentified sister. Sorry, I would give your name, but, you know, safety. Anyway, thanks.**

Once he had managed to climb the stairs and make his way to the room where the other was so often sat, it was quickly made clear that Austria had not exactly plunged into the very depths of despair in Prussia's absence. As per usual, the pianist was grateful to avoid what little conversation he was able, filling most of his required responses with one-word murmurs of acknowledgement.

That may have been for the best, actually. Even after such a long stretch of time, Prussia could feel the difference in the atmosphere. As much as he tried to think of something - _anything_ \- else, he couldn't seem to escape the sombering image of that transparent container. Meager in size as the object was, it had managed to change everything without doing anything other than sitting there and waiting to be found. The person at his side was no longer Austria, the aristocratic priss who sat at a piano all day, but, instead, Austria, the nation who could do little more than feed his music in hopes that his depression would starve. And to think that it was Austria matched with this description made everything so unnatural. With every teasing insult, some part of Prussia's mind couldn't help but particularly loudly wonder if his words were bothering the Austrian more than he knew. Eventually, though said Austrian didn't seem to notice, the gradual rise in Prussia's discomfort became so unignorable that he gave up on his normal teasing and settled for leaning against the edge of the surprisingly durable piano, giving an audibly aggravated sigh as he rested an elbow on the shining ebony surface of the instrument, both at his own vexingly awkward discomfort and the boredom which accompanied receiving no conversation and having nothing of interest to do.

Having little else to do, Prussia rested his cheek on the palm of the hand which was propped up by his elbow on the piano and settled for watching the musician play whichever composition it was that he seemed so involved in. Maybe it was the result of the day and what he had on his mind, but this one sounded nearly identical to half of what the other played. Come to think of it, it probably wasn't the stress of the day. He could easily recognize a few compositions, - these being the Austrian's absolute favorites, for one reason or another - but the rest of them were just a bunch of sounds coming from the same instrument. No matter how old he lived to be, he doubted that he would ever quite be able to see what Austria saw in music, or, at least, in the kind of traditionally classical music which Austria seemed to be so enamored by. It just didn't incite the same kind of emotional contentment in him as it did in the pianist.

If anything, Prussia was, at least, able to muster some level of appreciation for the music. After all, hearing it, mostly unchanged - apart from the varying emotion put into each individual piece - from its regular state, meant that not everything had changed. As boring as he tended to find it to be, it did bring some level of peace in the associated knowledge that Austria was still Austria. It was pretty much common knowledge among European nations that it would take a lot to get Austria to stop playing that piano, even for just a day. As he could play that thing through both World Wars, something would have to be beyond completely disastrous if it got him to be either unable to or unwilling to play through it.

Despite this sense of mild contentment, Prussia was less than enthusiastic when what must have been the first composition of the third hour since his being there began. He could have sworn that Austria was intentionally trying to mislead him, because the pianist had paused for a good twenty seconds and began lifting his fingers from the keys, only to slam his fingers back down on the keys in what was possibly the most violent performance of the first few notes of Beethoven's Symphony No. Five - which was among those few compositions which he could name after a few moments of consideration, though this was both the fault of Austria as well as Germany, as they seemed to share the same sense of shining pride for this particular piece. - that he had ever heard, which startled him enough to cause his head to jerk up from its previously maintained position in his hand. From all his many years of experience of knowing the Austrian, as well as the impatient look said Austrian was giving him, he was pretty sure that this was the musician's way of silently telling him to shut up and get off of his piano.

To this wish, Prussia did not comply. Instead, he folded his erected arm onto the surface of the instrument, laid his other arm on top of the first, and lazily rested his head on top of both, sighing as loudly as was possibly with a tone so heavily frosted in boredom that it may as well have been some kind of cake - probably not any cake of Austria's, since he was usually pretty delicate with icing, but one of America's, who tended to prefer cakes which were so heavily slathered in frosting that it was difficult to taste the actual cake. For the sake of his own amusement, he made it last a good ten seconds, too. Seeing that Austria was trying to regain his focus on his music, Prussia sucked in the largest mouthful of air which he could and began the loudest and longest attention-grabbing sigh of boredom which he had ever mustered to make in at least the last year. As he began, once again, sucking in air to repeat this motion, he was cut off by an abrupt end to the constant flow of the music and a sigh of Austria's own, though this was of remarkably lesser volume and duration, yet greater irritation.

"What do you want?" Austria complied at last, tapping his foot once or twice on the pedals of the piano. His eyes were fixed on those parts of Prussia which were relying on the instrument for somewhere to lie, a look of an unenthusiastic certainty that he would later have to shine his favored instrument again to make up for the Prussian dirtying it twisted into his facial expression.

"I'm _bored_ , Roddy!" Prussia complained, outstretching his arms across the surface as the piano, earning him another look of mild mortification for the very possibility that he was harming the thing.

"If you're bored, go and find something to do which doesn't interrupt my music."

"You play the same songs _all day_. Don't you get tired of it?"

"They're not the same compositions, and no. Go find something to do."

"I can't, your house _sucks_!"

"If you don't like my house, why did you come here?"

"Hey, c'mon, you know I can't leave my favorite priss all by himself!" Prussia retorted teasingly, treating the Austrian to an unrequited grin. "You'd miss me too much."

"I somehow doubt that," Austria muttered with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. In a vain attempt to escape the conversation, he turned his attention back to the ivory keys before him, though he knew even then that there was little chance that he would get to play anything with them any time soon.

"Roddy, I'm still bored,"

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know," Prussia admitted with a lazy shrug of his shoulders, as if trying to pass the responsibility of coming up with an idea to Austria. "Why don't you talk to me?"

"Fine," Austria sighed in irked defeat, rolling his eyes briefly to gather up what little patience he had left. He continued on with the a tone which voiced possibly the least possible enthusiasm imaginable. "How was your day?"

"Pretty great, thanks! But you should move somewhere else. Your house is far away from everywhere!"

"You don't have to come here, you know."

"You'd miss me."

"Where on Earth did you get an idea like that?"

"West said something about it when the Berlin Wall fell." Prussia retorted, his smirk sinking into his tone. He had been a little surprised when he had first heard about it, but the sentiment was, nevertheless, taken with a certain level of appreciation.

Austria's full attention seemed to be caught by the reference to that particular event, as he looked up from the keys in surprise which took little time to fade to embarrassment at being caught in the act of twisting the truth. He held his gaze on the Prussian's eyes, - a glimpse of seriousness hidden in his own - keeping it unwavering for just long enough to perplex the man in front of him. In due time, of course, his eyes fell back to the pale keys of ivory and he seemed to steady himself into a ready state to continue the conversation.

"I don't recall expressing such a sentiment," Austria decided nonchalantly, earning him an incredulous scowl from Prussia. "But I'm not moving from my capital, especially not for you. If the drive is too much of an inconvenience, I suggest you don't come."

"Eh, there's too much stuff to do on the way, so, I might as well," Though Austria was assuredly unaware of the motive behind this, there was absolutely no way that Prussia would refrain from coming over to the ancient Viennese house, at least every once in awhile. He might have considered it at some other point in distant history, but certainly not _now_. Not with everything he had just learned and, more importantly, not with everything he hadn't. He wasn't just going to leave without an explanation after seeing what was inside of that medicine cabinet. For all he knew, if he left for too long, there might not even be someone to come back to when he returned, and that wasn't a thought which he cared to linger on, so he expelled it from his mind and carried on. "Speaking of stuff, I've been doing tons of that lately!"

"And I hear that being a decent brother is not among this 'stuff'."

"What? Hey, I'm the best brother West has got! Just ask him! Who told you that?"

"He did. Apparently, you didn't show up to his ballet recital. He must be heartbroken."

Prussia froze, internally cursing his lack of ability to come up with a half decent excuse a week ago. What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn't admit that he had made up the entire thing, that just- well, he couldn't really explain it, but he couldn't do that. It would make Austria get that kind of smug arrogance which Prussia truly disliked to both see in that tiny little smile and condescending eyes and hear roll off that thickly accented tongue.

"I, uh," Prussia stumbled, looking around awkwardly as if the room would suddenly offer him the perfect excuse. "Of course I wanted to go, being the best bruder in the world, but, I, uh, had to . . . go . . . berry picking. Ja, berry picking!"

"Forgive me if I don't understand, but you refused to attend a performance which your younger brother poured his heart and soul into because you wanted to eat some blueberries?"

"Blackberries."

"What?"  
"Blueberries suck. Why would I go berry picking for blueberries? I only go berry picking for blackberries. Because they are black. Like my flag. Which is the best. Ja."

"Yes, of course. So, you refused to attend a performance which your younger brother poured his heart and soul into because you wanted to eat some blackberries?"

"No! Well . . . Ja."

Austria clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head lightly. If he hadn't been so intently focused on those piano keys, he might have noticed how incredibly furious with himself Prussia looked in his uncomfortable embarrassment. Of course, he had tried to get himself out of one bad excuse with another. There was no doubt that Germany would be hearing about this one. Silently, he cursed his inability to lie well on the spot. He could really use some practice in that area, and he swore to himself that he would work on it later, but it was incredibly doubtful, even to him, that he would follow through with this promise.

In his troublesome search for something better to follow his last oh-so-impressive statement up with which could possibly salvage his end of the conversation, Prussia, in that moment, felt a sudden lapse of hunger, which was made evident to both men in the room by the following growling of his stomach. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't really eaten anything that day apart from the food which he stole from France for the extensive drive and a bag of some admittedly low-quality potato chips which he had picked up at gas station when he was passing through Switzerland. He rolled his head over to face the side of the room opposite from the aristocrat, which was lined with at least a dozen windows of remarkable size, each stretching nearly from the floor to the ceiling. A quick look through any one of the glass fixtures told him that it was late. Nothing could be seen of the outside world from the distance from which he looked at it, as darkness shrouded it in the confines of night. That made sense. Hungover as he had been, he had a vague memory of leaving somewhere between seven-thirty seven-forty-five and the traffic had been pretty much unbelievable, saving him a good hour at least. It hadn't been too dark when he arrived, but, if he had been at the house for as long as he thought that he had, it had to be pretty late in the night.

"C'mon, Roddy, it's dark and I'm starved," Prussia whined, turning his head back to Austria in a rather unimpressive pout. "Stop having sex with that piano for a minute and make me something to eat."

"Don't be so vulgar!" Austria chastised sharply, looking somewhat flustered in his agitation, as though it were embarrassing to even hear something of the sort. "It's not time for dinner and I'm not making you anything."

"Priss, it's probably about nine-thirty at night. It's _past_ time for dinner."

"Exactly. I'm not making anything."

"Hey, you know you want some, too."

"I'm not hungry."

"What do you mean you're not hungry?" Prussia asked disbelievingly, pushing himself off the piano until he was standing almost entirely on his own accord, apart from one hand still lingering on the piano's edge. "I've been here for hours. What have you had, like, nothing all day? You're hungry."

"I mean that I'm not hungry, Gilbert," Austria firmly insisted, setting his fingers on the keys so intently as to make it obvious that he wanted to see the conversation's end by the end of his next statement, despite there being little chance of Prussia actually taking him up on his offer to say nothing more. "And, for your information, I had some coffee earlier today."

"That's it?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"That doesn't even count! That's drinking, not eating!"

"I found it quite filling."

"That's crap! You drank one cup of coffee and you're full for the entire day? Come on, Roddy, come up with a lie that at least makes sense."

"I really haven't been hungry today."

"Why not?"

"I don't decide when I am hungry and when I am not," Austria stated with a voice so rich with finality that Prussia was sure that it meant that this was the last that he was willing to say on the matter, regardless of what kind of a retort the Prussian had for him. "If you are so hungry, go downstairs and make yourself something and leave me be. And don't dirty my kitchen while you're down there."

Prussia groaned disapprovingly, partially in a last-ditch effort to see if Austria would give in and make him something, but, seeing as the pianist only returned to the rhythmic plucking of the keys in front of him, pushed himself off of the instrument with his only hand which had remained attached and began trudging across and out of the room. Once he had escaped doorway of the expansive room, he headed over toward the staircase. Before beginning the trek down them, he groaned once more at the prospect of having to brave the mountainous stairs more than once before even seriously considering leaving. Now that he thought about it, he would have to climb them again to get back up. He turned his head back to the room which he had recently left, checking in vain for any sign that the Austrian had heard how much trouble he was going to have to go to in order to get something to eat. Austria gave him no such sign, and, if Prussia wasn't wrong, only increased the volume of his playing.

With an irked grumble, Prussia set his focus back on the object in front of him and began making his way down it, which turned out to be a task which was beyond easier to accomplish than the task of making his way up it. Even so, none of the stairs were even at a reasonable length - so much so that it required some level of skill to fit his entire foot on them - and every one of them moaned in pain every time he so much as brushed the heel of his boot against their chipping paint, making for a very deafening tripping hazard. At the very least, hurrying down the near-vertical staircase to avoid tripping over his face and looking like an idiot made for a breakneck trip to the downstairs landing.

On the worse side of the things, being alone in the inky darkness of the downstairs gave Prussia time to think, which, he had discovered, was a dangerous habit to maintain, especially as of late. However, dangerous or not, his mind didn't have to wander far to come across something to steal his focus. He couldn't help it. How was he not supposed to think something of this? A week or so ago, he had found antidepressants in Austrian's medicine cabinet and now the same man he had spent so much worried thought on openly admitted that he hadn't eaten anything all day. Sure, a cup of coffee was _something_ , but it wasn't much.

"What are you now, freaking anorexic, too?" Prussia muttered under his breath, though very much aware that no response would be received from the target of this question, as he crossed across the wooden flooring to the strangely unlit room. It occurred to him, just briefly, that he was being insensitive, but he wasted little time in letting that sentiment be overwhelmed by concerned anger.

What right did Austria have to do this, any of this? It was bad enough that he was apparently emotionally unwell and didn't say anything, but this was getting unhealthy beyond a mental level. A cup of coffee, really? That was _it_? Well, maybe it was more than one cup - the Austrian didn't actually specify, now that he thought about it - but that didn't change the question at hand. No, Prussia had already been over this with himself. Austria didn't have the right, but that didn't really change anything.

' _Still,_ ' Prussia continued the argument internally, groping around blindly for a light switch of some sort. There had to be one. Even Austria wasn't _that_ bad with conserving money. ' _He should have said something. What else does he think I'm here for?_ '

In due course, Prussia's hand smacked roughly against an object which would only possibly be a light switch. Since there was too little lighting in the area to take the time to check, he took his chances and flicked the downcast switch upward. Hastily, the room became alit with such astonishing brightness that he could have sworn had never even existed inside the consistently dreary household. It came on so strongly and suddenly, that he winced under the light's intensity, taking a moment to close his eyes in an attempt to adjust.

As the lighting grew less severe on Prussia's protective eyelids, he gradually pried his eyes back open, albeit only to a squint, to face the room which surrounded him. When he did so, he blinked a few times to fully adapt before opening his eyes to a sensible extent and strolled across the hardwood to where an appropriately sized refrigerator of a pale alabaster tone sat in waiting. There had to be something to eat in there. Germany, knowing of the aristocrat's tendencies to lose himself in whatever place he so happened to find himself in, had developed a habit of stopping by the old place every few months or so to personally escort Austria to the grocery store and back, just to make sure that the elder had the opportunity to remain as healthy as was possible, and he was pretty sure that the last visit hadn't been that long ago - only a few days prior - so Prussia was almost entirely certain that there was food to be eaten inside the kitchen.

Once Prussia was within close range of the refrigerator, he took ahold of the door of the appliance's handle and pried it open. As expected, the appliance was reasonably filled with a wide variety of edible objects, some half-completed baking projects and other mere food items found at the store which needed refrigeration. There was some milk hidden amongst at least seven different bowls containing various elements of incomplete, and most assuredly needlessly extravagant, but he didn't really feel like making anything more than some coffee - which, when coming from Austria's house, was always worth the trip - so he didn't hesitate to dismiss that item. Out of all the dull object's contents, the most appetizing had to be a simple, rectangular sandwich toward the front of the neatly arranged rows of items. He didn't really know what it was, but there had to be some kind of meat on it - both because it was refrigerated and because all the existing members of the Germanic empire shared a fond taste for meat of most kinds - which was a good sign, if you were to ask him.

Having made his decision, Prussia reached over to grab the sandwich. It was rather cold, but that was to be expected. Actually, in his mind, a cold sandwich made the meat more enjoyable, so he really didn't mind. Once he had his grip on the cool bread, he pulled it out of the refrigerator. Whatever it was, it sure smelled good, and there was definitely meat on it, for the scent of the tantalizing juice wafted up to his nostrils, which might as well have gone to heaven in that moment.

However, the mood of the moment was drastically shifted once he realized the opportunity which was lying in front of him. On the frigid marble counters just beside the refrigerator, there lied a coffee pot, which, while looking worse for the wear, was obviously still in regular use. It didn't take anyone of supreme intelligence and wit to know that Austria had a particular fondness of such a drink - even to the point of being commonly chastised by Germany for how unhealthy his habit of drinking it so often was. It would only take a few minutes and a little convincing. That was all. The ceiling wasn't especially thick, so, the Austrian would probably be able to hear him if he yelled loud enough, making that no longer an issue, and he doubted that it would take much to convince him anyway.

"Hey, priss!" Prussia called with ear-splitting volume, tilting his head upward to face the ceiling as if that would somehow make Austria more engaged in this soon-to-be conversation. As was somewhat expected, he received no answer, though he could have sworn that the music stopped for a half of a second before continuing, probably out of sheer irritation. With aggravation of his own to match, Prussia called again, this time with even greater volume. "Roddy! I know you can hear me!"

"What?" Austria called back, his weary, yet sharp as always, annoyance not at all disguised. This time, the music came to a lasting halt, if only for the duration of the conversation.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"Why are you asking me that? That's hardly worth yelling for!"

"Just answer the question!"

"I don't see why it's any of your business, but yesterday was a World Meeting in my country and you know that they serve dinner when it gets so long because of all the idiots who don't know how to run their own countries," Austria assured him, tired suspicion ringing clear in his voice. "And Ludwig offered to buy me coffee before the meeting to help build my patience."

Oh. Oh, yeah, that was right. Germany had mentioned something about there being a World Meeting soon. So, maybe, Austria didn't have an eating disorder, which was hugely relieving possibility, particularly when Prussia took into account the last week or so's discoveries. He doubted that either of them would ever need something like that to deal with, and they certainly didn't now. Maybe Austria had just been so focused on his piano that he had forgotten to eat something. Yeah, that had to be it. The pianist did have a habit of obsessing over the instrument, so, that had to be it. It had to be.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Prussia asked in his final attempt for the night on the matter. "Unlike you, I'm nice enough to make something!"

"No, I don't trust you around my kitchen," Austria responded curtly.

"Hey, that's just mean! Luckily, I'm awesome enough to make you some coffee, since I'm making some anyway!"

"Fine," Austria huffed in easily won defeat. "Thank you."

With that, the music began again, and Prussia turned his attentions back to the coffee pot on the counter and the sandwich in his hand. He would need a knife to cut the sandwich with, but making the coffee would take longer, so that project was prioritized above the sandwich in his hand. Making his way to the object took very little time and finding the coffee filters and actual coffee took even less. It was in times like this that he was glad that the younger was such an addict.

Fortunately, Prussia did know how to make coffee, so he did not have to conduct a rapid internet search in order to obtain instructions. Instead of browsing the web, he reached toward the cabinets above the countertops which the coffee pot sat upon and hastily grabbed two mugs out of them once he opened them. He carried both mugs over to the sink on the opposing side of the room, where he turned on the cold water and filled both with it. Then, he returned to the pot and poured the contents of both containers of liquid into it before unceremoniously shoving the filter into its place and dumping an unmeasured amount of coffee into the filter. A flick of a button began the oddly soothing grinding noises for which the device was so well known. It would be some time before the beverage was ready.

Seeing as there was nothing else to do which involved the coffee, at least for another few minutes, other than relish in its luxurious sounds and surprisingly alluring scent, Prussia moved on from this task and began rummaging through various drawers in search of a utensil to divide his sandwich with. The knives were somewhere, he knew that much, he had seen them before; he just had a very limited idea as to where they were. The first four drawers he looked through held nothing of importance, the fifth holding only objects which were so unbelievably odd that he didn't think he would understand them if they were explained to him a thousand times over, but the sixth contained exactly what he had been hoping for.

In it, laid several neatly arranged rows of knives, the best illuminating in their cleanliness like stars and the worst were dull and ragged, likely only still there for the sake of preserving money, despite such a thing being currently plentiful in the area. There were knives of varying sizes, some so small that their usage was doubtful and others so large that they looked as though they were designed to butcher human beings, but, while it _was_ very tempting to go for the largest butcher knife which he could get his hands on, Prussia snatched an uninteresting looking blade whose name he hadn't the time nor care to remember.

What was interesting, in contrast, was the blade just barely poking out from the rest now that Prussia's knife of choice had been removed. If it were anyone else's, it might not have been that intriguing, but, knowing Austria, it stood out as strange. It wasn't clean like the rest of them were. There was something on it, something staining it, which he couldn't recognize from that distance.

' _When has the priss ever_ not _cleaned his silverware?_ ' Prussia wondered, his face contorting in confusion. In his puzzlement, Prussia took the dirtied knife into his hand and brought it closer to his face as to get a better look at it. All of, well, whatever that was, was delicately lining a portion of the front of the blade in a thin mark. It was almost methodic, really. Even so, he still had no idea what on Earth that was, so he brought it just a little bit closer and squinted his eyes just a bit to try and improve his vision.

Funny, Prussia had originally thought that whatever was crusted onto the blade was more of a brown color, but now that he took a closer look, it was more of a mahogany. And it had to have been a liquid at some point for it to look like this. What had the Austrian managed to do to this knife that got it into this state?

All at once, a paling thought dawned on the Prussian. It almost looked like- no, it couldn't be. It just _couldn't_. It was just so horrifying to think about that he didn't want to even imagine it as being a remote possibility. But what other explanation was there? There wasn't anything else it could be. But there _had_ to be. There had to be another explanation.

' _Mist._ ' Prussia exclaimed internally, his eyes widening in the pain of the realization. ' _No. No way. There's no freaking way. He didn't- No, dammit, he didn't!_ '

Almost instinctively, Prussia jerked his head back toward the ceiling, staring up at it as though he could see the musician through it. How could Austria have done it? Yeah, Prussia knew about those pills, but he didn't think that it was all bad enough that the Austrian would actually go all the way and do something like _this_! But, looking at the knife, all the evidence he needed was right in front of him.

There was blood staining the blade of the knife, and there was only one way which Prussia could think of which would explain how it had gotten there.

 **Translation:**

 **Mist - Crap**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Ha ha, I made my sister swear with that ending. It was funny. Once again, Prussia is an idiot. Let us not forget. Yes, there are things which I am intentionally writing into Austria's character which I am intentionally having Prussia not notice for the sake of characterization in the sense that he's not really known for his massive wit. With that aside, thank you all very much for taking the time of your day to read this, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'll try to get the next one out as soon as I can, and please, do have a wonderful day!**

 **~Aleberle**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hello, yet again, my valued readers! I'm sorry that this chapter wasn't out as early as I thought that it would be. No, I didn't specifically announce when it would be out, but I was hoping that it would be published the week following the last chapter. Unfortunately, - well, maybe you don't find it that unfortunate, I don't know how you feel about this story - that didn't happen, partially because I got sick and partially because Prussia is possibly the most frustrating character I've ever written. It's not that he's especially hard to write - he's actually pretty easy for me to write - he's just kind of an idiot 90% of the time and the majority of his decisions are really aggravating, especially when I would do everything just about the exact opposite way. Even so, I do enjoy writing this, so, I hope that I'll be able to get the next chapter out just a little bit sooner. However, that might not happen, because school starts in three days, so I might be a little stripped for time. I'll try my best to be quick about it, even so.**

 **Once again, there are one or two words in German scattered about the chapter - actually, I'm pretty sure that there's only one, but I use it multiple times - and their translation(s) are down below the chapter and just above the A/N. I would also like to warn everyone that Prussia is still an idiot and is pretty frustrating in this chapter - though, honestly, when** _ **isn't**_ **he? For those of you who tend to feel what I just found out is called external shame - like my sister and editor, who literally started screaming whilst reading this - which is when a character is being idiotic or embarrasses themselves and you feel their pain, as well as a sudden urge to leave the room, you may have a bit* of a difficult time with this one. With that being said, thank you for reading, and I hope that you are able to enjoy this chapter!**

 ***More than a bit.**

Austria had cut himself. That was the sentence which kept repeating itself over and over again in Prussia's mind. _Austria_ had _cut himself_. How did those words even fit together to form a coherent sentence? In a way, they didn't, but in another, they made a sickening kind of sense which twisted his stomach in frigid rope until his entire body felt as though it were sculpted of ice. But, unlike ice, everything still hurt. Unlike ice, he was still terrified by the possibility that the pianist was still cutting. Unlike ice, he was furious with the very idea of such a horrible possibility. And unlike ice, he was mortified to think that if Austria could actually be cutting, or just have cut at any point, no matter how recent, then maybe he actually _did_ have some kind of eating disorder.

Prussia had to do something. He had to- he had to get Austria something to eat. No matter what. No matter what it was, how much effort it took, nor how much the musician might not want to comply, he had to get him to eat something, because, dammit, he was not going to let Austria starve. And he was going to do something about this whole situation because he was not going to let the Austrian go off and kill himself either.

But if this phrase had ever meant anything, that was _so_ much easier said than done! Yeah, just go and magically get rid of his emotional disorder and then he won't want to go and die! Hell, it wasn't that _easy!_ How on Earth was Prussia supposed to do this? All this time, it was all just him pretending that he had any idea what he was doing, but he just didn't, and that was . . . that was frightening. And humiliating. And infuriating.

It wasn't until the coffee pot began loudly hissing that Prussia was jerked out of his thoughts and brought back to where he was standing in the downstairs kitchen of Austria's house. He looked down at his hand and the object encased in it. They were shaking. What a perfect physical representation of how he felt. Every part of him, external or internal, was shaking, wasn't it? He used to always have confidence that he knew exactly what to do, but that confidence was now shattered on the floor of his mind, tossing and turning as it was shaken by the earthquake of everything else in him. Everything he had thought that he knew was either wrong or didn't seem to matter anymore. How could any of it matter? How could anything other than Austria and getting him the help that he needed possibly matter in that moment? How could anything other than seeing Austria really, truly smile and know that he was actually okay possibly matter?

And wasn't that ironic? Prussia had spent half of his life, maybe more, chasing after that Austrian with little other intent than to see the smaller man crumbled beneath him, only ever wanting to know the sweet taste of the other man's defeat, and now that the taste was flooding his mouth to such a capacity that he could never have imagined, he didn't want it. He didn't want any of it. Austria had broken and crumbled and been reduced to rubble and it was _awful_. Prussia really couldn't have imagined how terrible it was going to be. He had what he had craved for so long and all he could think to do was figure out a way to give it back. Now, he was terrified and so concerned and furious and, in a strange sense, almost betrayed, and left by himself in an overly lit kitchen, which felt so dark that no light fixture could ever light it, with the irritating weight of a growing lump in his throat, wondering how on Earth this had happened.

No, Prussia couldn't do this. He couldn't bare to look at that thing anymore. He thrust his head as far away from it as he could. In his horror, he dropped the knife but found himself unable to watch as it hit the pile of the rest of its kind. Instead, he only heard the clang of that vile thing clashing against the rest of the metal. But it was still there, so close that he could see it if he looked over again, and he just couldn't have that. So, he rashly and blindly slammed the drawer shut, only looking back once he was absolutely certain that he wouldn't be able to see that bloodied knife again. It was almost funny - the well-crafted drawer looked so innocent from the outside. If he hadn't just learned better, he would have thought that it was ordinary. But it wasn't. It really wasn't.

And then, the music stopped, and Prussia froze.

"Gilbert?" Austria's voice called from the now silent music room, confusion and just the smallest hint of concern lacing his tone. Now, that, _that_ was truly ironic - that _Austria_ should be concerned for _Prussia_ in that moment. "What are you doing? Are you alright?"

Prussia couldn't answer immediately. It was just too much - to hear that voice and know what its owner had done to himself. He bit his lip, inhaling sharply. What had gone wrong? What was going to go wrong? What was he supposed to say? No, he wasn't really alright, but it wasn't because of any drawer or knife, unlike some people. Okay, that one was just a little bit uncalled for, but still. How was he supposed to be alright when he knew how shockingly far from alright Austria was?

"Gilbert?"

"Ja!" Prussia managed suddenly, realizing with a mumbled curse how long he had remained unresponsive. Hastily, he clambered over to the coffee pot and flicked it off, causing an end to the reminding purr. "Ja, I'm fine, Roddy!"

Prussia sighed anxiously. The coffee was probably too bitter by now, but it wasn't going to get any sweeter, so he pulled the pot away from its resting place and began pouring its contents into the two mugs resting on the counter. The smooth flow of burning liquid seemed to last an eternity, slowly reducing itself to droplets which hammered themselves into his already on edge mind with the sound of them crashing against the inky liquid below.

It occurred to Prussia as he waited for the last few drops to pour that he hadn't been this anxious in decades. He didn't think he had _ever_ felt quite like _this_. It wasn't just being anxious. It wasn't just surprise. It wasn't just bitterness. It was something too raw to be fairly described, but it was nothing less than a mess of painful concern and so many more emotions that he couldn't be bothered to name all of them with the unavoidably terrible feeling in his gut. And it did make him anxious. It made him uncertain and vulnerable and scared. And it made him want to run upstairs and shake Austria by his shoulders until he came back to Earth enough to talk to the man who had been pretty much by his side practically every day since the end of the World Wars. On the contrary, it also made him extremely hesitant to take a single step up those stairs because now he just couldn't talk to Austria.

But whether he could or couldn't was no longer the question at hand, as the coffee was no longer pouring and all that there was to be found of it was divided semi-evenly among two mugs, looking up at him and asking him whether he was or wasn't willing to try. His hesitance be damned, that was possibly the easiest question he had ever heard. In what world would he not go and find that Austrian? Maybe they would actually talk about the issue at hand and maybe they wouldn't, but there was no way in hell that he was going to leave that man alone, of all things, after learning what he had just learned.

So, Prussia took a mug in each hand and marched across the kitchen, knocking the light switch off ungracefully with his elbow. He took a breath of preparation and began up the staircase, his eyes focused on the candlelit room just ahead, from which the music was steadily flowing. It was closer than he had expected it to be, despite it never having moved, and it seemed that hardly any time had passed before he was standing in the doorway, deciding for a final time if he really did want to go in or not.

This question was answered by Prussia taking a determined march inward, passing through the doorway and making his way to the pianist's side. He relaxed his posture against the side of the piano, leaning against it with as great an air of nonchalance as he could manage under the circumstances. With fixed resolution, he poked one of the pale and undecorated mugs over to the Austrian, who offered his thanks quietly and accepted the beverage, allowing silence to fall upon the room in the absence of the ever present notes and chords of the piano. As the aristocrat sipped at the drink delicately, Prussia took the opportunity to take a better look at him.

' _He sure seems pretty damn relaxed for having dug a freaking knife into his wrist._ ' Prussia thought to himself, a certain amount of bitterness intertwined with the voice of his own mind. The musician was just sitting there, a minuscule smile stretching across his lips as the taste of the coffee crashed upon his tongue and engraved itself into his mouth. How could Austria look like that? It just didn't make any sense. He looked so . . . content. Maybe it was all just an act. That thought was a possibility which he sincerely hoped was far from valid, but there was at least the slimmest of chances that the Austrian was, in truth, dying inside, but put up a pleasant front as to clear away any possible suspicions. That did sound like him, but it couldn't be true. That just couldn't possibly be the case. Then again, Prussia would have thought that the other man harming himself with a knife couldn't possibly have been the case either if someone had asked him earlier that day.

"What?" Austria asked, breaking through both the silence and the elder man's train of thought and causing the former nation to realize that he had been staring longer than he had intended to. Now, Austria appeared less pleased and was looking up at Prussia with eyes laced with suspicion, like he was expecting the other to do something irresponsible and aggravating at any second. Under any other circumstances, Prussia might have taken pride in this reaction, but now, he was almost offended that the Austrian would expect him to do something childish at such a time, even though the pianist, of course, had absolutely no idea that he was even vaguely aware of the issue at hand.  
"You gonna drink that?" Prussia inquired in response, gesturing to the barely touched beverage. The utter lack of humor in his voice seeming to catch Austria just slightly off guard, but the Austrian's face slowly painted itself in understanding and his eyes were grazed with unsurprised ill humor.

"If you want it so much, you're free to have it." Austria offered simply. If he had caught the real intention of the gesture, he gave Prussia no hint of it.

"What? No, I don't want it! I want you to drink that. If anything, take mine, too!"

"Are you alright?" Austria asked somewhat hesitantly, looking at Prussia as though he was looking upon an escaped mental patient disguised as the former nation who he knew, suspicion gleaming in those fields of violet.

"Ja, of course! Well, kind of not really, but it's not really me, but I guess I'm involved now, so, basically, yeah. I'm great." Prussia rambled with such speed that he wasn't even entirely certain that Austria could fully understand him. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Austria responded dubiously, lifting the plain mug to his lips and sipping politely at the refreshing liquid.

An excruciating stretch of silence passed between the two, broken occasionally the sound of Austria steadily consuming his drink. After the first minute, Prussia gave up pretending that he had any intention of even considering drinking his own coffee and set it down on the surface of the piano. That gave him time to just focus on the Austrian. This was bad, but he had known that. This was beyond anything he had ever done before in his life and it was indescribably horrifying. If this went any further, he might just get to test the accuracy of Germania's account for himself.

No. That wouldn't happen. This wasn't going to go any further, no matter the cost. Prussia wouldn't allow it. There had to be some way to stop it, and if there wasn't already one then he would make one himself, because, _dammit_ , he was not going to lose Austria, especially not to himself. Even so, the whole situation begged the question of how exactly he planned to escape all of this.

"Thank you," Austria stated once more after the final drops of liquid were drained from their container, reminding Prussia of where they were and placed the now empty cup on the surface of the instrument, though closer to him that Prussia's was.

"Take mine," Prussia responded, pushing his cup over to the edge of the piano and far closer to the aristocrat. "I don't like really like coffee that much, so, you should probably take it. You really like that stuff, don't you?"

"Is something wrong, Gilbert?" Austria inquired, staring at the man leaning against his instrument of choice with intent reservation.

"What? Why the hell would you think something like that?"

"You've been acting strangely since you arrived. Did something happen?"

"Hey, I've already answered this question. I'm not doing it again."

"I don't recall asking you that."  
"Well, it was _pretty much_ the same question."

Austria eyed him distrustfully, looking him up and down as though this would suddenly reveal whatever it was that the elder was hiding from him, but said nothing. He only waited for Prussia to carry on with the conversation or give him some indication that he was free to carry on with his music without further interruption.

"Hey, I'll tell you what," Prussia continued suddenly. "I'll answer yours if you answer a question of mine."

Austria lifted the coffee mug from the instrument and to his lips, extracting the liquid without protesting the suggestion. It wasn't exact, but it was close enough to permission for Prussia to continue.

"So," Prussia began, looking about the room as if this were any normal conversation. "You wanna tell me why there's a bloody knife in your drawer downstairs?"

Austria almost choked on his coffee, saving himself only by swallowing what he had in his mouth as quickly as he could and covering any strangled noises with a light cough, muffled by his ever-gloved hand. He looked up at Prussia as he lowered the cup down onto the surface of the piano with leisurely speed. Only, it wasn't leisurely. It was tentative, like he was trying to buy time with polite sluggishness. And his eyes, though only for a moment, looked like they were bordering on panic and he, himself, in that moment, looked like the very picture of a deer in the headlights.

But the moment ended, and Austria visibly regained his self-control.

"I was making steak last week," Austria responded carefully, his face reverting back to his favored expression of neutral composure. "I must have forgotten to wash the knife. Thank you for reminding me."

"Okay, first of all, you never make steak. Second of all, that wasn't even a steak knife. Third of all, you _never_ forget to wash your silverware. Everything you're saying right now is bull crap and I want to know what's up. What the hell's going on, Roderich?"

"Don't act as though you know these things."

"I don't have to if you leave them out for me to find!"

"I don't recall asking you to rummage through my drawers."

"Yeah, well, I don't recall asking you to leave me out of this!"

"There is nothing for you to be left out of. I gave you my answer and there is nothing more to it than what I have told you." Austria retorted, a stronger harshness to his voice than anything Prussia had heard from him in years. With that, he set his cup down on the piano and stood up from the seat designed for the instrument. It was without another word that turned on his heel and began stalking out of the spacious room.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?" Prussia all but yelled, pushing himself off from the piano and marching after the Austrian without so much as a moment's hesitation. "We're not done here!"

"Yes, we are, and I am going to my room to retire for the night."

"What, so you can go and kill yourself?"

At that, Austria froze - quite visibly, too. He said nothing and went nowhere for a few moments, which was more than long enough for Prussia to take advantage of the opportunity. The Prussian lunged forward, taking ahold of the younger man's wrist firmly. It occurred to him fleetingly that this wrist might be that which had been damaged and he loosened his grip just enough to make himself certain that he wasn't bringing further harm to the Austrian.

"What are you doing?" Austria asked tentatively, thawing just enough to turn his head around. He was on edge - practically every muscle in his body had grown tense and his facial expression especially reserved.

"I'm waiting for an answer. What do you think?"

"I'm not going to kill myself."

"Well, you're doing a pretty crappy job at proving that to me."

"And what exactly do you want me to do to prove this to you?"

"I don't know! How about not practicing?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me! If you don't want me to believe that you're going to kill yourself, don't go and practice killing yourself!"

"I'm not practicing suicide, Gilbert!"

"Then what would you call this?"  
"I would call this none of your concern!" Austria shot back, trying - and failing - to break free from Prussia's grasp. He sighed in vexation, the commitment to his argument apparent even in his actions and indications which were nonverbal. Whatever he had to say was what he was going to remain loyal to. "Honestly, Gilbert, you're making a big deal over nothing. I was just cooking and that is all."

Prussia, however, was far from impressed with this explanation. He looked down at Austria as though he were looking at a madman, his face contorted in what appeared to be disbelief that such words could ever be released with conscious awareness of the circumstances. If he had ever looked stubborn before, he was beyond obstinate now. His eyes shone of his lack of want to compromise on the matter at hand - hard and hurt and crimson.

"Yeah, well, I'm already concerned, so you might as well just tell me what's going on." Prussia spat back in a voice overflowing with frustrated persistence. "That was not from cooking and you know it."

"I really don't think I do know that."

"And I think you do!"

"How would you know what I think?"

"Because I know you, Roddy! I've known you for hundreds of years! I've literally known you longer than anyone else in the world and, thanks to that, I know that you're a pretty crappy liar!"

"Will you be quiet for once in your life?" Austria hissed, eyes flickering impatiently - and almost with a kind of desperate anxiety - to the door. Quite uncharacteristically, he squirmed, attempting, and failing, to escape the grip of his captor. He was met with the same steely gaze famously known to his younger brother, and Austria had to silently remind himself that the Prussian was capable of carrying himself with the same sternness that had been taught to him by the Germanics before him and which he himself taught to the unified Germany who came after. Quite stubbornly, he met it with a sharp glare, though it did little, if anything, to convince the other. "I said that it is none of your concern and I meant that it is none of your concern. It is not now and it never will be. This is not an issue you need to involve yourself with because there is _no issue_. My _dinner_ is quite controlled, thank you, and it will remain that way. I am fully aware of how to take care of it and it is not a matter that requires your assistance, unless you have actually learned anything about cooking in the last century - which I sincerely doubt. Now _leave it be_."

"Yeah, sure, I'll leave it be." Prussia agreed after a moment, something resembling sarcasm dripping from his tone and his eyes narrowed. "Just as soon as you show me your wrist and prove to me that there isn't anything going on."

"It is not my duty to prove these things to you!"

"What the hell does duty have to do with any of this? Do you really think that I actually care about any of that crap? Oh, come on, Roddy! Are you really stupid enough to not be able to see that I'm-?"

Prussia trailed off abruptly. That he was what? He certainly wasn't here and demanding answers because of something as stupid as duty. Worried? Concerned? Both words seemed right, but he couldn't seem to be able to express either under the Austrian's harsh stare. If ever the phrase "tongue twisted" had ever applied to anyone, it applied to him now. So much so, in truth, that he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than sigh uselessly. Austria wasn't even looking at him now. Apparently, the pianist was no longer in the mood to listen to any part of this conversation anymore. If he wasn't even going to make any sort of eye contact with anything but his bedroom door, then how on Earth was Prussia supposed to convince him of anything, much less get any honest answers out of him?

"Look at me," Prussia demanded, though his tone had softened considerably from the one he had used earlier in his yelled argument. Still, even to his own ears, his words seemed almost more tired than sympathetic.

Austria apparently was not in a mood to comply to Prussia's wishes and proceeded to do nothing of the sort. If anything, though the Prussian might have been hallucinating on this one, he inched his head farther to the side in a subtle act of defiance. This only made Prussia's frustration boil and burn until it was beyond the point of overflowing - a sentiment which he expressed by tugging on the Austrian's wrist to gain back his attentions.

"Dammit, _look at me_ , Roderich!" Prussia insisted again, his voice contorted with emotions which he would have dreaded hearing entangled in his own accent under any other circumstances. Hell, he still dreaded hearing him use them to some extent, but, at the very least, his sincerity had the slightest chance of making the Austrian more likely to take him seriously. If the pianist could make them all out from behind the elder man's anger. And apparently, Austria could and did, because he hesitantly adjusted the position of his head to allow him to look at his elder, violet eyes reluctantly locking onto those of scarlet.

There was something different about those delicate plums. Again, what Prussia thought he saw could very well have been some sort of hallucination, but in that moment, he had no doubt that this was not the case. Just for a moment, some sacred drop of vulnerability flashed in those strong, shielded eyes, peering out from behind the guarded walls. It was strange. He wasn't used to seeing that in Austria. Normally, the younger man faced defeat or confrontation with such stubborn arrogance that it was a miracle that the Allies hadn't had the indecency to tear him apart after the Second World War. This was vaguely new. Prussia could count the times he had seen the Austrian openly upset on one hand, so something had to have been beyond shaking if it prompted such a reaction. He wasn't sure where that half of a second came from, but Prussia melted at the sight of it. His face lost its edge, contorting into an accurate depiction of at least a smaller portion of his unwitting worry. The next words he spoke were in a much softer tone, quieter in volume than anything else he had said the entire night, and more admittingly concerned than anything else. "What's wrong, Roderich?"

Austria didn't answer at first. Instead, he just stood there, his eyes widening until his pride got the better of him and reverted them to their accustomed size. And in that stretch of time, he looked almost like he wanted to answer. Like he was waiting for something like this, but hadn't expected it, and was ready for everything to pour out in a moment of helplessness. In all honesty, he kind of looked like he needed a hug, which Prussia might have offered to him if he hadn't shifted his outward persona so suddenly from whatever that had been to the hardened personification of seventeenth century pride which Prussia had seen so many times throughout their centuries of being acquainted.

"There really isn't anything wrong, Gilbert." Austria half muttered finally with a tired sigh and a quick adjustment of his prescriptionless glasses, causing a surge of fury to flare back up in the man standing in his presence. He glanced back at the door to his room, letting his eyes linger there as he continued to speak. "You know, I really am tired."

"You know what? Fine. Go to bed. I'll be here in the morning." Prussia snapped in conceded defeat - at least for the night - though still with a burning flare of untarnished stubbornness and not without an unquenchable fire of resentment in his tone. It wasn't fair for Austria to be so difficult. How hard was it to see that he was trying to help? So, Austria thought it was just perfectly fine to go and cut himself and then come up with some half-baked and generic excuse, now, was it? Fine. If he wasn't going to get an answer now, he would just have to wait until tomorrow. Either way, he was going to get a real answer to this. At last, he relinquished his hold on the Austrian's wrist, hauling his own arm back to his chest where he could fold it and his other across. "Lucky for you and your stupid secrets, I'm going to stay the night at your place."

"There is nothing secretive about dinner, Gilbert, but take any of the rooms apart from my own. I trust that you know where mine is."

"Honestly, Roddy, your place is so big that I don't know where half of your crap is."

"It's the first door on the left. And it's a room, not crap. Don't be so vulgar."

"Eh, that's pretty much the same thing."

Austria said nothing, only rolled his eyes in a gesture which had once come across as cantankerous and strong willed, but now seemed more like a fatigued effort to appear as such than anything else. Now, it just emphasized what a poor actor he was. He just wanted to leave. But that was probably what he was getting at. All he had to do was avoid conversation, seem especially normal, and then, as a result, be given the opportunity to flee to the safety of his room quicker. He must have really wanted to leave if he was willing to stoop to relying on his acting abilities, which was especially apparent as he looked back at the door and began edging toward it longingly.

Seeing Austria getting so close to leaving struck something in Prussia. All at once, he really didn't want that musician to leave. He couldn't let him slip away again, not now. There had to be something more he could do before the opportunity was lost. If Austria left now, they would be exactly where they started with this - maybe further back, maybe just slightly forward, but hardly by anything. What was the pianist going to do - hurt himself again? This time, go all the way and try to kill himself? No, Prussia wouldn't allow that, but what on Earth was he supposed to do to stop any of this?

"Hey!" Prussia called out, resulting in Austria halting his movement and looking back at him once again. He bit his lip, still not entirely sure of what he was planning to say, but didn't break eye contact. What did he want to say? Germany had once told him that the best thing to do when you don't know what to say is to think about what the purpose of the conversation is - or something like that- and he was usually right. So, what was the purpose of this one? There was definitely something he was trying to get out of it. Thinking back, he supposed that what had upset him the most about all of this - besides the very idea, and that wasn't any good for this, since he had already tried that route - was that the Austrian hadn't taken the time to tell him about any of this. Sure, he knew that they had used to fight a lot and he still teased the younger, but he hadn't realized that the level of trust running between them was so low that they couldn't even talk to one another about anything other than history, current events, and other, more trivial, matters. Did Austria trust him at all? Maybe he didn't. Strangely enough, he couldn't help from thinking that he should do something about that. He swallowed, hoping to drown out some of his remaining uneasiness, and grumbled wordlessly in an awkward uncertainty. Then, he opened his mouth and found that words did exit from it - much to his surprise - and that his voice had returned to the softer volume which he had used just minutes earlier. "Just . . . don't feel like you can't talk to me, okay?"

Austria was staring at him now. At first, he looked as though he had been caught off guard, but that eased into something else. Something different and strange. Something which looked vaguely like what he had seen earlier, but it was different, in its own way. There was something new in his eyes, something Prussia couldn't name because he sincerely doubted that he had ever seen it before. And whatever it was made him think, just for a moment or two, that the Austrian was actually going to really talk to him, but the younger just swallowed and treated him to a stiff nod.

"Okay, yeah, good." Prussia stumbled, nodding his head once for the sheer sake of having something to do. "And, uh, goodnight, Roddy."

"Goodnight, Gilbert," Austria responded after a moment of waiting silence. He shifted uncomfortably before nodding again, this time just as a polite gesture of recognition. Then, he promptly turned around and crossed the short distance between himself and the door to his room, disappearing into the darkness before him and leaving Prussia by himself in the midst of an air of troubled uneasiness.

With nothing more than his own uncertainty and growing vexation left to accompany him, Prussia swore under his breath with an unprecedented amount of vehemence. If he had ever thought that this whole mess was infuriating before, he was regretfully forced to admit that he knew much better now. He really had not been joking when he declared that Austria was a terrible liar. Aside from the Italian brothers and Spain, Austria might just have been the worst liar Prussia had ever known, or at least when it came to something which the pianist deemed liable to hurt his bloated pride. And, evidently, this matter was deemed liable to slaughter his pride entirely, and if this really was recognized by both parties as such a monstrously large deal, then the Austrian probably wasn't going to say anything more on the matter, let alone anything even remotely close to the truth.

But Austria didn't have to say anything. He had essentially confirmed Prussia's suspicions, just by being horrendous at denying them. And now, there was nothing left to do but face the truth, which was not something that Prussia was especially eager to do. Not when that involved Austria cutting himself, at least. But now that the truth of the matter was rubbing itself in his face, the question of what was to be done about this unfortunate truth still remained unanswered. And he had no idea whatsoever as to how he was supposed to find any sort of answer to a question of the sort.

The sound of the door lock clicking into place behind the Austrian was possibly the most relieving, yet also the most stressful, sound Prussia believed he had ever heard in his life. Thus, why it was accompanied by a sigh of both these things. It had come rather late, considering that Austria had been concealed behind the safety of the door for some time now, but that was the least of his concerns. Maybe something held the Austrian up, maybe he was just thinking - it had been a long half of an hour or so. It didn't matter. Unable to help himself, he stole another stare at the door, lingering for a moment as if that could somehow calm the whole situation. Inevitably, despite his worry, it couldn't and just ended up making him feel worse than he already had, so he pried his eyes away from the closed door and, with little else to do, began down the elongated hallway.

Prussia didn't have any destination in particular, but he had found walking to be helpful in solving stressful matters in the past, or at least helping him forget them, and pacing by the door to Austria's bedroom seemed undesirable at the moment. After all, it was late, as the sun had retired for the night many hours ago, and the musician needed to sleep, whether he necessarily wanted to or not, which would not be helped by the repeated raucous slamming of heavy boots against the floorboards of the hall just outside. And, dammit, that Austrian was going to take care of himself in at least one way that night. Prussia would make certain of that. Besides, he needed something to do. Preferably something that didn't involve giving into the overwhelming urge to kick that door in and demand that Austria tell him the truth and have enough sense to open up or whatever it was that people were supposed to do in situations like this. Under his breath, he continued his muttering of a familiar stream of hissed curses.

' _What the hell am I supposed to do?_ ' He mouthed once he had relieved himself of every profanity which he could think of on the spot, careful to allow only the minimal amount of sound to escape. Afterwards, he spat a few more curses, just to make himself feel better. With the amount of frustration he felt toward the situation - even with all of his vehement swearing to blow off steam - he was severely tempted to find some object, any object, to throw at something, preferably a door. Or maybe down the stairs. Yeah, throwing something down those stairs would be satisfying. Those stupid, steep stairs which had made all this happen. If there wasn't anything below them, none of this would have happened. They deserved to have a million different things thrown at them and then some. Instead of following through with this temptation, he glared with stark animosity - though this aggression was admittedly pointless - at the floor below and pulled his phone out from his coat pocket.

It took him but a moment to recall and type in his password. He really did need to stop changing it whilst he was drunk. It probably had something to do with baguettes. Or beer. Maybe France had changed it. That would honestly not surprise him in the least.

As it turned out, Prussia had apparently changed his password to ' _awesome-tomato-frenchie-bread-haha,_ ' which was one of those decisions that made him just a little bit regretful to have decided to drink. Well, it also made him pretty proud of himself and his decisions. It was a rather odd combination of opinions. On the bright side, it did make him grateful that his memory was just as intact as it had been before his country's dissolution. The last thing he wanted to be was a senile old less-than-nation who couldn't remember half the decisions he made. Once he did manage to remember his rather undesirable password, - which he still was half convinced that France had set up for him - he wasted little time finding his phone app and scrolling through his list of contacts - some of which now had such obscure names that he wasn't entirely sure who was who. Fortunately, the particular contact which he was searching for remained unchanged. Perhaps, even in his drunken hazes he still had some sense. Once he recognized the desired name, he nearly immediately pressed the name and watched as the small phone icon and the name and assigned photo of the contact flooded his screen. The phone was soon pressed to his ear and its blaring sounds were at their peak of audibility.

One ring, two rings sounded. Then, the soft clicking that signified someone picking up on the other end was heard with unappreciated clarity. That was just like him to pick up Prussia's calls so quickly. At least some things always stayed the same. The thought would have been almost comforting if the current situation wasn't so pressing.

"Hey, West." Prussia sighed wearily into his end, rubbing his forehead with his hand to soothe the rushing flow of thoughts and worries, as well as the now oncoming headache, that refused to leave his mind be. He forced down some of his bubbling hostility and just let himself give in to the empty exhaustion which had been gnawing away at the corners of his mind since he had made the discovery. "Geez, it's been a long day."

 **Translation:**

 **Ja - Yes**

 **(Well, wasn't this chapter easy for translating? I just had to translate one word, and I'm pretty much certain that most of you could assume what this meant anyway. Before I started learning any German, I still knew a few words and phrases because I read so much FanFiction. At least one of you has to be as much trash as I am and have done that.)**

 **A/N:**

 **Well, wasn't that painful? I'm a little tempted to rename this chapter "The Chapter In Which Prussia Does a Total of One Thing Right." Do not take advice from Prussia. Preferably ever. He really doesn't have any good advice. Also, he apparently asks toilets what birds are and Himaryu called him "derpy" in a side note by a drawing of Prussia which is saved on my phone. Even Himaryu had some idea of what he had created. Anyway, thank you very much for reading! Once again, I will try my best to continue updating as often as I am able and I hope that you were able to enjoy this chapter! Do have a wonderful day!**

 **~Aleberle**


	7. Chapter 6

**Okay, so much for "one week." Yeah, I'm sorry about that - there was school and issues with finding the time in my editor's schedule for her to be able to look this over. But, all in all, I'm glad that this is finally done. Alright, I'll keep this brief. I feel like Prussia is a little more bearable here. It was actually pretty fun writing him this time around. Also, there is something which Prussia says that I explain the historical context of in the second paragraph of the A/N at the bottom. I decided to play around with switching perspectives between characters this time and, as per usual, my characterization is not the best in the world, but I'm trying to keep them both as accurate as I can. Other than that, I don't think that there is anything that you need to know other than patience for Prussia, because even I don't know what he is doing with his life and the decisions which come with it sometimes, despite being the author of this. Okay, have fun, or suffer greatly, it's kind of your choice, but it's also dependent on Prussia.**

 **As always, there are a few words in German scattered throughout the chapter - all of which have translations which can be found at the bottom of the page, just above the A/N. Alright, do enjoy this chapter as much as you are able to. Have fun and thank you for taking the time to read this!**

The controlled slamming of the wooden door into its socket behind him seemed unbearable in Austria's burning ears. He waited, pressing his back against the door. A few moments passed. Then, a minute. No one came. That had to be wrong. Wasn't Prussia coming? Of course he would. He wouldn't even have to find a reason to intrude in someone else's life. And grab his wrist again. And touch him right where he had done it. Right where that horrible mistake had been made. Or maybe that sound had been quieter than he had thought that it was.

Austria's heart still pounded so harshly that it seemed to collide with his ribcage again and again; there wasn't anything he could hear aside from the sound of his own panic. Either there really wasn't anything happening outside and no one was coming, or whatever was there was just overwhelmed by the auditory manifestation of his own fear.

' _If anything is going to bring him here, it is going to be you and your loud heartbeat, dummkopf._ ' Austria thought to himself bitterly, taking a shuddered breath in the darkness. He hadn't meant to do it. Not really. This whole thing was just an enormous mistake which never should have happened. It was only a moment of fragility, just a brief flash of weakness. There were a few tears on his face and a little bit of a feeling of . . . something he couldn't describe. He was probably just exaggerating it after the fact. It couldn't have been that bad, not when it was just nothing. All he had been was a little bit upset and a little too impulsive. He had a bad day and a lapse of emotions and too many perversely morbid ideas which led to there being a knife in his hand.

A groan rose in the Austrian's throat, finding its release through a visible cringe and a quiet noise coming from underneath his breath. This was all his fault. If he hadn't taken care of this so late after the fact, if he hadn't waited so long to take those things, if he hadn't lost control, none of this would be happening. If he had the minimal intelligence required to come up with a better response than simply storming off once confronted, Prussia wouldn't be involved in any of this, which would have made the whole situation so much better. Why on Earth he had been so hesitant to take that medication was beyond him. With every passing day, it was the same message drumming itself into his mind, the same message that he was perfectly fine and didn't really need any assistance, and so, he left that little bottle alone. He should have known better. The very purpose of that medication was to make all of this better.

But it wasn't better. Whatever it was that he had taken was a waste of what it had cost, because there was not one person or creature in the world who could convince him that it had done anything. Well, that wasn't quite true. It had done something, he could feel that much, but he was beginning to doubt how much he liked that impact. It brought headaches and sickness and pain and not feeling like eating and losing suspicious amounts of weight even when he did eat and this strange and unwelcome kind of feeling which crawled up and down his spine and spread through his blood with no ghost of a hint of leaving - like numbness, but more. There was something there which pooled in the pit of his stomach, but if the point of being better was for that, then he couldn't say that he wanted any part of it.

In a way, it was almost worse. It was supposed to fix this. That was why Austria had bought it. That was why he had gone to it to help him - to _fix_ him - when he realized that nothing else could. But it just made him think about it more. And it made him miserable, and he was almost entirely positive that it wasn't just the migraines. At first, it had been fine, and all that was there to feel was either wonderfully normal, like none of this had even happened in the first place, or a nothingness which was oddly refreshing. But then, it just started going askew. It had only been a week or so ago when that had began. That was when it had gone from nothingness to emptiness, and as similar as those two things may have sounded to him before any of this, he had since learned that there could not have been a more drastic difference. Feeling nothing was calming, because when there was nothing, there was as little negative as there was positive, but emptiness was quiet misery. It felt like what he could only imagine what death felt like - being left in a hazy fog of unhappiness which he could never escape no matter how hard he tried, but by this point, he wouldn't bother, because there surely couldn't be anywhere he could run to. Unless he wanted to burst through the door and rush in tears into the Prussian who had only become his friend because they both woke up one day and realized that they had just slaughtered nearly one hundred million people in under three decades and that there was hardly going to be anyone else who had any idea what that felt like. That man was really making a bigger deal out of this than it was. He made it sound so dramatic, but it really wasn't. It certainly wasn't lovely, but it was slow and quiet in ways that the Prussian would likely never understand, even if he tried, and Austria sincerely doubted that he genuinely cared enough to put the effort into trying.

Prussia would never understand. He would never even try. And why should he? Heaven forbid the day that he should ever feel the need to invade Austria's world enough to try and help. There really wasn't anything to help, anyway. That wasn't to say that there was not anything wrong. No, Austria was far from idiotic enough to believe something like that, but nor was he enough of a fool to convince himself that there was anything of enough severity as to require _Prussia's_ , of all people's, attention. As far as he was concerned, this was his issue to deal with and his issue alone, as it nearly always had been.

But, now that his heartbeat had begun to slow and he himself had begun the process of what you could call calming, the whole situation begged the question that if Prussia really didn't care and didn't understand - as he most certainly did not - why was he here? He wasn't acting like himself. The near yelling and storming after the Austrian when he didn't get his way was to be expected, but it was far from in his character to grab wrists, speak softly, and get that look in his eyes - the one which Austria had never dared to dream of glimpsing in those crimson eyes during peacetime. He really had looked . . . concerned, almost. And helpless. And indecisive. He was _never_ indecisive, especially not to the extent that he had looked just minutes prior. Either he was confidently barking orders at troops without so much as a moment's planning or he was charging into admittedly poor decisions in a drunken haze. And yet, he was, though Austria would not have believed it if he had not just witnessed it himself. Prussia had genuinely looked indecisive, and he had given up on a fight which he had obviously seemed to think was important.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Prussia actually did care, at least to some minuscule and subconscious extent. If he let his guard down and at least put the time and energy into appearing as though he was actually projecting some level of concern, then maybe it was possible. It might be possible that he really did-

No.

' _Don't be a fool,_ ' Austria internally chastised himself, shaking his head slightly, in disbelief at his own stupidity. This was not any time to be dramatic and mull over what might have been. He began slowly correcting his posture and taking in shallow breaths which sent light shivers down his straightened spine as they became deeper. ' _You can't honestly believe that, can you? He's just here because he thinks it's funny. He will have forgotten about it by morning._ '

And there was very little doubt in Austria's mind that Prussia would not have expelled this event and any sort of truce which he might have offered as a result of it from his thoughts by the time that the both of them had opened their eyes to welcome Vienna's morning sun. So, he pushed himself off of the door and marched in somewhat shaken strides across the room, taking a break to retrieve a pair of nightclothes from his oak dresser - which was one of the few regularly used objects in his room. As he did so, it occurred to him briefly that he hadn't laid in that bed in a long time. He hadn't really slept anywhere in a little while, really. It wasn't that he was intentionally avoiding sleep, just that he hadn't been nearly tired enough to give into the caress of slumber. Maybe that was another marvelous reminder of how far gone he was. He was almost entirely certain that insomnia was included in that seemingly never ending list of side effects, but in his sleep deprived mind, he couldn't seem to find the energy to remember. All that really mattered anyway was the awaiting furniture in front of him and the encasing sleep which would soon find him.

In a great number of tedious movements, Austria had slipped out of his daily attire, but it was with few swift motions that he brought the clean and lacy fabric over his skin. It was cold, and what pathetic stub was left of the candlestick by his bedside had not been lit in an uncertain stretch of time. The temperature of the room which easily reached his skin from under his nightclothes reminded him viciously of the purpose of wearing so many layers during the daytime and left him reduced to occasional shivers and goose-bitten skin. However, what drove a shudder to crawl through him like a frighteningly large centipede was not the temperature, but rather, the sensation of chilled air brushing across the healing wounds on his forearm. Most days, he could at least pretend that the marks were not still there, but now it was so blatant that it left him frozen like whoever was foolish enough to brave the Russian winter after it had ravaged so many troops.

No matter. The window was bolted shut, the Austrian knew that much, therefore, there was nothing which he could do about the temperature - unless he was in the mood to waste wax and keep himself up with a light, which he was quite certain that he wasn't. With that in mind, he did his best to rid himself of his nerves with a sigh which was just barely shaken and pulled back the covers. This would all be over in the morning. He would be better then, act better then, and Prussia would learn to leave that which was not his to worry over alone. The thought was as close to comforting as he could expect, as it did calm his nerves and bring him back to a hollowed sense of dignity. Funnily enough, it was like the medication, too, in the sense that it didn't really help, but brought him a feeling which he wasn't certain that he could take pleasure in. Even so, he carefully laid himself down on the welcoming mattress and wrapped himself as best as he could in the blankets. Sleep came slowly, but was inevitable, and took him away - at least for a few hours - from the cold and the forlornness and to a world where relaxation and comfort were possible.

"Gilbert?" The German voice called through the opposite end of the phone line in its husky familiarity. Though a ghost of gruff aggravation was painted into his tone, as it always was, the younger German brother sounded more confused than anything else - that much was more than evident in his voice alone. That did make sense. After all, it wasn't every day that he was given the opportunity - if you could even call it an opportunity, as it was an experience that really wasn't all that wanted - to hear his elder brother use a tone so starved of humor. "Is something wrong?"

"What? Come on, West! What's up with you and thinking everything is wrong lately?" Prussia shot back almost immediately, doing his utmost - which was rather unimpressive at the moment - to provoke some sense of humor back into his tone. He bit his lip, contemplating how exactly he was going to explain this all to his brother without Austria murdering him later. Not that he was scared of anything the younger man could do to him. Of course he wasn't, not after all the times that he had beaten the man in war, but this conversation would be all the better if he could avoid having the musician try. That is, if Austria was even still alive to try to murder him. No. No, he couldn't think like that. Of course, the Austrian would be alive. He always was. This was a trained soldier he was thinking of - albeit a rather terrible one. An atrocious fighter, but a soldier with resistance which was so impressive that even Prussia would have to admit to it. He would never let himself die, especially not at his own hands - that had to be under the list of qualifying decisions which he would consider disgraceful, probably by whatever logic which he could pull out of the Bible. And neither would Prussia.

"Does this involve Francis?" Germany sighed into his end, all surprise stolen entirely from his tone by experience. "Gilbert, how many drinks have you had?"

"What? No! This isn't about Francis. And I haven't had any since I left, thanks."

"You drove all the way to Vienna with a hangover?"

"Well, I- maybe. But- hey, how'd you know I'm in Vienna?"

"Well, you're not here and Antonio hasn't stopped texting me about you for the last hour. There isn't really anywhere else where you would be. But, more importantly, why the hell were you being so reckless? Don't you know that driving with a hangover is just as dangerous as driving drunk?"

"Oh, come on, West! Don't you trust me?" Prussia cut his younger brother off, genuinely grinning for the first time in what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few hours.

"I really don't." Germany admitted without any hint of remorse for his bluntness. "Since the end of the War, neither of us have been sure of exactly how much you will be able to handle - physically, that is. Be more careful."

"Hey, you're mean!"

"Why did you call me again?"

"I need you to get over here!"

"I'll come and get you when I can find the time."

"What? You should have plenty of time! I saved you tons of it!"

"I really don't think your method saved me any time."

"Whatever! Just get over here! And I don't need you to come and get me, I just need you to stop being over there and start being over here. It's not that hard, West. I did it with a hangover."

No words passed between the two for a matter of seconds, Prussia growing increasingly desperate for his brother to say something with every passing moment. Germany cleared his throat once and Prussia could practically hear him frowning - or at least, he could feel the tension which came with it - but aside from that, the only real noise which he could hear was the light static projected from the phone. Preferably,

"Gilbert, are you alright?" Germany asked, his voice lightly drizzled with just barely audible worry which both confused the elder and sent a pang of guilt to course through his body.

"What? What do you mean? Of course I am! Who do you think I am?"

"You seem . . . serious. It isn't like you. Are you sure everything is alright?"  
"Ja, I said that I'm _fine_ , West! When can you get over here?"

There was a pause, but it was momentary, and quickly replaced by the audible shuffle of fabric and paper. From the surprisingly loud shifting of the locations of paper, Prussia could make out the sound of his younger brother counting assignments under his breath. Judging from what he could hear, there certainly was a lot of it. It was little moments and details like that which made him just a little bit more grateful that he had been relieved of his title as a nation. As if to reassure this notion, Germany's unenthusiastic sigh rang clear over the phone.

"It's going to be at least a week," Germany concluded, dread at the size of his fully realized workload hanging from his voice. "I'll tell you when I can get a clearer idea of exactly how long it will take, but know that a week will be if we're lucky."

"Your work sucks, West,"

"I know."

"Why don't you just blow it off?"

"I have to do my work, Bruder. If I don't, it will just pile up and then, I'll have even more work to do later."

"That's a bunch of crap."

"Whether it is or not, I will hopefully be able to visit in just over a week."

"Fine," Prussia gave in, having no further argument which he hadn't already given. "But you'd better hurry and get your work done."

"I will," Germany agreed with a minimal amount of hesitation. And, just before hanging up, he offered a few simple words of parting in their shared native tongue without giving his brother any real chance of responding. "Gute Nacht, Bruder. Auf wiederhӧren."

And, with that, all that was left to hear was the reminding beeping which signified the end of the call and the soft burning of nearby candles. Prussia sighed, adding one more sound to the bleak night. Amongst all the buzzing and burning thoughts which fought for dominance in his mind, the only one which was clear enough for him to really make out and linger on was that he needed alcohol, and lots of it. There was some downstairs - he had seen it when he was raiding the refrigerator earlier. He tossed a final glance toward the door of the hour, lingering on it until he couldn't look at it anymore without gritting his teeth in frustration, and turned to begin traveling down the staircase toward where the only medication which could possibly do him any good was hidden away in the depths of the darkness which he still despised with an only a little bit unjustified vigor.

The bottles around Prussia clinked and rattled as he sat another down beside him. He found himself vaguely aware of what a blessing it was that Austria was well-stocked as far as alcohol went, but more focused on getting his next drink down his throat. They had long since been emptied the night before, the alcoholic liquid drained for the purpose of soothing his racing thoughts. They had done their job well in pulling sleep from his eyes and mind. After years of staying up countless nights by himself with quite often outright desperate battle plans and the looming threat of occupation, one more sleepless night was hardly enough to tire him. Even if habit hadn't dulled the harshness of the task, he had learned to lessen it forcefully with the satisfying burn of alcohol and enough unpleasant thoughts to while away the hours.

By the sensible hours of the morning, Prussia could tell from a near infinite amount of experience that he was approaching the end of his intoxication - if there ever was such a thing, as his own thoughts were sobering enough by themselves to keep him from the real bliss. Perhaps they were what had prevented him from entering any actual state of drunkenness. Or, maybe, his high tolerance for alcohol combined with the low alcohol intake involved in the consumption of cheap beer was the greater reason. After all, Austria had always been more keen on the idea of watering down beer. Either way, his mind remained as sharp as it could be throughout the duration of the night. Sharp, like that blade in the drawer which had at some point been pressed into that pale wrist, splattered with thick drops of aristocratic blood. He still hadn't worked up the will to get rid of that thing. It was like he was trapped in some sort of horrifying dream and left waiting unsuccessfully for it to end. This just wasn't like any nightmare he had experienced before.

Prussia sighed, staring in discontent at the remaining drops of relieving alcohol in the tinted glass, or lack, thereof. He could feel bitterness seeping from the cracks of his mind like the very beverage he had spent the night pouring over. Why did it have to be Austria? Out of all people, why did this have to happen to him - the delicate, fragile, closed-off pianist who would suffer death before sharing his real discomfort? How was this fair? The answer was simple - it wasn't. It just happened; no one wanted it to and by all means it shouldn't have, but it happened nonetheless. It felt like this was whoever was up there's way of punishing him. And when had 'whoever was up there' become a sufficient replacement for God's name in his mind? There was a clear period of time which he could recall when there was very little which he lived for beside warfare and religion, when God had lived as the center of his life, but now he couldn't seem to remember when his falling out had occurred. It had to have been sometime around the World Wars. Being an S.S. changed people in ways that no one could really describe.

But, it hadn't changed Austria. Austria still prayed and attended Mass and believed in Christianity probably more than any other nation who had survived the last few centuries. And, yet, this had happened to him. The two of them had gone through practically everything together, and now that something came up which, quite fortunately, could only directly plague one of them, it happened to he who lived his life practically drenched in faith. Well, sure, he hadn't been as dedicated in recent years, but even so, that was relative. How could anyone really be expected to have the same relationship with the Father after working for nearly a decade trying to exterminate His children like they were any less valuable than anyone else of different circumstances?

No matter. Well, it did matter. A lot, actually, but Prussia supposed that sitting around thinking about what had already been done wouldn't change anything, whether in the past or present. But, there had to be something he could do that would, and he was pretty much sure that he had something of the sort in mind. So, he pulled himself to his feet with a groan, making certain that he stretched in such a way that he could hear nearly every bone in his body crack. Thinking back, he could remember with ease the days when he had gone out of his way to mock how thin Austria was. During such times, whenever he had come to see the Austrian, he had held some hope that the pianist would still be just as thin, so that he had something to make fun of him for. That was just how they had been. Now, the idea of that man being as thin as he was - or worse, even thinner - was repulsive, and making certain that Austria was of a healthy weight was currently amongst his top priorities. And, like all of his priorities, he was going to do something about it, which was exactly why he ended up scouring the kitchen in search of ingredients.

Prussia didn't know exactly what kind of food the Austrian had, but there had to be enough to make at least a decent breakfast. If there wasn't, he would either walk to the market himself or make a breakfast which was of lesser quality - and he was currently leaning towards the latter, since the former seemed tiring to his alcohol infested mind - because there was absolutely no way that Austria was going to get out of eating breakfast after last night. On the bright side, he did know that there was a beyond sufficient supply of coffee, which was a better start than nothing. In addition, the younger man had such an extensive history as a baker that there was little to no chance that his kitchen wasn't well stocked with just about everything one would need to bake something at all times. Maybe pancakes. Prussia had a feeling that he was in the mood for those. Sure, they were more of America and Canada's thing, but he could hardly deny that they were delicious. Besides, pancakes were just simple enough to make that it was difficult for a well-off baker to not have enough ingredients to make some.

As it turned out, Prussia had been right to assume that the kitchen contained enough ingredients. And since he was, he mustered up the energy to drag himself across the room, gather the ingredients required for baking pancakes, and start making a pot of coffee, though doing so caused his alcohol-drenched mind to groan in complaint. He didn't really feel like getting the exact measurements for what was required, but he knew what he needed, so that would have to be good enough. Some of this and some of that and a stove would lead to a complete meal either way. Besides, it meant that he got to do the only part of baking which was even remotely fun - cracking eggs. Well, he was pretty sure that he only needed one, but he took it upon himself to crack more than that, just for the sake of it.

By the time the sole survivor of the eggs, the milk, salt, flour, and various other ingredients had managed to be more or less inside of a bowl and were mixed to a certain extent, Prussia could recognize easily that the counter and floor below were clearly spotted with various ingredients - which were mostly eggs. That would have to be cleaned up. He didn't really get why people assumed that he couldn't clean things. It didn't make sense, considering that he had to be the best cleaner in the world, if you were to ask him. Besides, despite the size of the mess, it wouldn't take that long to clean up, just an old rag and some water, and if he cleaned this up in addition to making the best breakfast that the world had ever known, Austria would have to owe him a favor. . . .

With that incentive in mind, Prussia mixed the contents of the bowl a little more, just to be safe. Once they seemed safe, he began rummaging through the drawers in search of a pan of some kind. He almost avoided an entire section of the cabinets, just to make sure that he didn't stumble across the drawer which held that blood crusted object which he could hardly believe was even real, but eventually found himself opening every drawer in the area in search of that particular drawer. It wasn't that difficult to find it, just as it wasn't difficult to find the exact knife he was looking for, and he grabbed the knife - as disgusting as it felt to even be touching the thing - and threw it away as soon as he found it. After that, he looked through the cupboards until he found some food which was beyond the point of being rotten and threw that on top of the knife, just to make certain that he had covered his tracks.

On the less dreary side of things, Prussia could remember where the pans were from opening nearly every drawer in the kitchen. He relocated one which seemed to be the right size and moved it over to the stove, which he promptly turned on to a temperature which he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to. Before he could get to pouring the batter, the coffee pot began whining, so, he temporarily abandoned the pancakes and turned his attention to getting the coffee poured into a mug - as he wasn't especially in the mood for any kind of coffee which wasn't filled mostly with either something for a hangover or more alcohol. Doing so was quite simple and required very little effort as well as time, so it was not long after that a portion of the pot's beverage was housed inside of a plain, marble-colored mug which rested leisurely on the countertop by the bowl of pleasant-smelling batter and a pool of said batter had been poured onto the pan to be cooked. He noted, with prideful satisfaction, that this plan had played out quite well. If it had worked out so well this time, he would have to do this more often at home to show Germany what a talented chef he was.

"What on Earth is that smell, Gilbert?" Austria interrupted, causing Prussia to nearly jump with how much the sudden voice had startled him. Of course, he restrained himself from actually jumping, as, even if he was no longer a nation, he still had his self-image to maintain. The Prussian whirled around to see the brunette entering the kitchen from the landing of the stairway, fully dressed in his unbelievably outdated attire yet still managing to look noticeably tired. "Did I not tell you to not play around in my kitchen?"

"I don't know, maybe. But I don't know any way to make breakfast without using the kitchen." Prussia responded with a shrug, glancing down at and gesturing lightly toward the active stove as if to prove that there was indeed food being prepared. He then lifted the coffee mug from the counter and crossed over to where Austria was standing to offer it to him.

Austria blinked in confusion, but once the truth to the idea that the Prussian was being serious about this really dawned on him, a quiet sound of surprise escaped him. Nevertheless, he accepted the mug, finished his trip across the room, and pulled out a chair from the only table in the room - not sitting in it yet, but certainly displaying obvious intent to do so. He leaned his head at an angle, searching for the sight of a truthfully empty pan on the stove as he sipped delicately from the mug, but when he came across the sight of batter, he smiled lightly, hummed pleasurably to himself, and offered a few words of thanks to his elder. However, once it really did sink in that _Prussia_ was attempting to make edible food in his kitchen, a certain level of suspicion arose in his expression.

"You mean you're actually going to eat?" Prussia asked, having returned to the kitchen counter, voice primarily accusatory, but failing to hide a hint of relief and excitement. "What happened to Mr. One-Cup-Of-Coffee?"

"I told you that I was not hungry then, and I am hungry now. If you think that I have some sort of eating disorder, you're quite wrong. Your brother simply told you that it is most healthy to eat when you are hungry and not do so when you are not."

"Yeah, sure."

Prussia decided that he was going to ignore the slightly exasperated huff he received in response and turn his attention back to the stove. As he did so, it was quickly revealed that what had once been a steadily browning pancake was rapidly transforming into a mess of a recipe which was hardened and ebony as the darkest night sky on one side, but still a glob of undercooked batter on the other. He grimaced for a moment or two, but very soon came to the conclusion that if he was going to do this, he might as well make this look good, so, as though this were his finest piece of art, he shoveled the ruined food item up with his spatula up into the air as though he were preparing to flip it.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Austria asked, staring at the mess of what appeared to be partially liquified charcoal in disbelief. He narrowed his eyes, trying his very best to correctly determine what exactly he was looking at, but soon gave up and settled for looking up at Prussia in confusion.

"Duh, I'm making pancakes, and they're pretty awesome!" Prussia exclaimed enthusiastically, proudly waving the glopping substance on the spatula around in the air, before dropping it onto a plate in a fit of stubbornness.

"They're pretty _burnt_."

"They're not _that_ burnt!"

"They really are. And also underdone."

"Hey, if you think that you can do a better job, go ahead!"

"Fine," Austria huffed, setting his coffee down on the nearby table and making his way across the room to where Prussia stood by the stove. Before the elder could protest, he stole the platter and spatula and promptly began stalking over the nearby garbage can, where he wordlessly scraped the contents of the plate into with the spatula. When Prussia did inevitably begin to complain, Austria returned to his side, laid the now empty plate on the counter beside the stove, and reached over to take the bowl of batter. He swiftly brought his hand over the hand of the elder man which encased the spoon which had been used to relocate the batter for the first pancake - if you could even call it that - onto the pan and wordlessly guided it back into the bowl of batter.

"What are you doing?" Prussia asked, crinkling his nose in confusion and watching their hands as Austria carefully scooped a portion of batter onto the pan. "Can't you just do that yourself?"  
"You said that you were making me breakfast and you are making me breakfast," Austria responded in such a way that without sounding particularly aggressive, made Prussia very much aware that he had no intention of relenting on this idea. As he spoke, he continued his work on the batter, managing almost seamlessly to produce evenly sized pancakes, which Prussia found as confusing as he found it something which surely Austria was the only being capable of. "And I prefer my breakfast to be decently baked. If you intend to make breakfast, you are going to have to learn how to make it correctly."

"Hey, I was doing great!"

"I believe that we have different definitions of 'great'."

"Yeah, mine is awesome and yours isn't."

Austria rolled his eyes lightly, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he waited in silence for the pancakes to be ready and flipped them accordingly when they were. Unlike Prussia's just barely less-than-impressive pancake, these were baked with expertise which could be rivaled only by Canada himself and stacked surprisingly well on the cleaned plate. He frowned disapprovingly - most likely because the pancakes were made in a North American style and not in that of Kaiserschmarrn - but nevertheless, found his supply of confectioners' sugar and dusted the stack lightly with a wonderfully generous spoonful.

Prussia was ready to plow through the food as soon as it was out of the pan, but Austria insisted that they wait for a few minutes for the food to cool. After a great number of complaints, the Prussian eventually complied and set a timer on his phone for about three and a half minutes, though he claimed to have set it for five. The pianist would surely never know the difference. That left the two of them with nearly four minutes with nothing but each other's company. Those near four minutes left Prussia with two options - either sit in uneasy silence again or brave having a real and serious conversation which he was almost positive that neither one of them were looking forward to.

"Hey, Roderich?" Prussia called uncertainly, after a sum of seconds, earning him a startled expression from the other at the sound of his full name and the more serious expression on the former nation's face. He coughed awkwardly, grazing his teeth over his bottom lip for a moment whilst he searched for the right words. "Look, okay, last night wasn't great, but I want to actually talk to you about this. About- you know, all that stuff."

Austria visibly stiffened "I don't see what there is to discuss."

"Kind of a lot, actually," Prussia scoffed, a sense of frustration brushing against his mind, both at Austria's stubbornness and his own inability to think of the exact words which he wanted to say. "Okay, I don't actually know anything about this. The last time I had to see something like this was back in 1945, when West was . . . you know. The Allies got to all of us. But West's West and he'll actually listen to me. Even though I'm really great and you should, too, you probably won't, since you can be really stupid and not listen to good advice when you need it."

At this point in Prussia's explanation, Austria looked like he wanted desperately to either interrupt by protesting or flee the scene entirely. So much so, in fact, that he opened his mouth to interject. However, this was met with little success, as this was quickly realized by Prussia, who wasted no time in cutting him off.

"Hey, I'm not done, Princess," Prussia continued. "Basically, if you think of doing something stupid again like whatever crap you pulled with that knife, you come to me instead, okay? I'd rather you talk to me than put yourself in danger over something like that. You got it?"

Before Austria had the chance to respond, the two of them were interrupted by the whining of the timer. He seemed quite relieved by it and took to his feet to care for the meal before Prussia could so much as give a word of input. And Prussia, despite feeling tempted to, didn't fight him on this one. Instead, he turned and made his way to one of the chairs at the table - where he made his seat in and watched as Austria divided the food and appropriate silverware evenly between two plates.

It wasn't long before Austria returned to the table and placed both of the two plates before each of them. He sat down across from the man he had once known as his rival in silence, just as he did much of everything which had no connection to music. Only, Prussia couldn't pick up the conversation this time. There wasn't really anything left for him to say now that he had gotten his earlier speech out of the way and he had found that he wasn't the best speaker under pressure. And, so, they sat in silence.

While Prussia began devouring the meal as soon as it was placed before him and was done with it in less time than he had waited for it to cool, Austria did very little other than look about the room contemplatively. Prussia was going to ask him about it - mostly to angrily point out the return of this lack of appetite - when Austria broke the silence himself.

"Alright," Austria sighed reluctantly, casting his gaze at the meal before him. This one-word sentence of agreement caught Prussia by surprise and caused him to look over at the other in confusion.

"What?"

"You asked me a question and that is my answer, fool."

"Oh. Oh, yeah!" Prussia exclaimed in sudden recognition of the subject matter. "Awesome. Since you pretty much have no idea how to work any kind of technology at all, I'm going to stay here so that you don't have to call me. But _that_ -" Prussia cut himself off with a vague gesture toward the drawer. "-had better not happen again. You can do whatever other kind of crap you want, but not eating and doing . . . _that_ suck and if you do them again, I'll . . . I don't know, I'll be really pissed. And I won't leave you alone."

Austria merely nodded, just a little shakily, if Prussia wasn't wrong. He hadn't looked up from his food once during the entire conversation - which he had proceeded to begin eating sometime earlier during the other man's response and had made sufficient progress on finishing. Apparently, he really wasn't in the mood to argue about this. That was well enough, but the resulting silence of his compliance resulted in an especially uncomfortable air between the two of them.

"Do you, uh, want a hug now or something?" Prussia asked uncertainly, scooting his chair a little bit closer, just in case. That seemed like something that people would do in movies after this kind of a conversation. It also seemed like Austria wasn't very interested in reenacting movies, because his head shot up near immediately after that, looking bewildered and just a little bit offended by the very idea.

"Absolutely not," Austria answered decidedly. "Why on Earth would I want a hug from you, fool?"

In spite of the grim circumstances, a devious smirk spread across Prussia's face. An opportunity which he hadn't had in far too long had now revealed itself to him and he had no intentions of giving it up whatsoever. It had been way too long since he had gotten to have any fun with Austria if you were to ask him.

"I think you want a hug," Prussia teased, the grin on his face seeping into his voice, and put down his fork in order to ready his arms in an awaiting gesture. Austria looked positively appalled as the realization of where this was going dawned on him. Silently, he followed suite as far as the location of his fork was concerned and pushed his chair back. "Come on, Roddy, c'mere. Don't you want a hug?"

"No, I do not."

"Aw, don't lie to me, Princess. You know you want a hug."

Austria glared disapprovingly at the man who had once been known as a nation. He waited for a second or two, hoping that his expression was doing enough to discourage this. When he decided that it had done all that it could, he rose to his feet and turned on his heel to begin marching from the room with clear intent to flee it as hastily as was possible.

The Austrian had made it not six strides before that which he had been dreading proved its inevitability. With a triumphant laugh, Prussia had sprung up onto his feet and pounded after the other with such incredible speed that it served as an impressive reminder of his years serving in the military. In a lost hope to avoid what was sure to come, Austria quickened his pace, but this was soon proven useless as he was pounced upon by the Prussian. Nearly as soon as this happened, his wrist was soon captured and yanked in such a way that he unwillingly whirled around as to face the other, whereupon the wrist was abandoned and he was faced with the irritatingly smug grin which he had come to know so well throughout the many years of their acquaintance. Strong arms then wrapped themselves around his torso in a grip which he knew well that he could not escape, but he began struggling to do so the very moment they made contact with him.

The squeaky noise of protest made by Austria as he was dragged back across the floor and down to the closest chair was amongst the highlights of Prussia's life and he silently reminded himself to remember it for the remainder of his life. Another one of those highlights was the sound of Austria's voice when he began verbally protesting after he was pulled into the paler man's lap. Receiving more than one highlight to remember in under a minute was satisfying enough to fully persuade him to continue this particular game, and continue it he would. His grip had been unbreakable since he had taken hold of the younger, but rather than using this to move Austria, he now used it to hold him close as he possibly could without bringing harm to him. So close, in fact, that both parties were well aware that there was very little chance of the Austrian's escape from having his head limited to moving only in the various areas of the crook of Prussia's neck and the rest of him limited to being pressed against the torso of the elder in such a way which was so improper that the Austrian would not have wished upon his worst enemy, were his worst enemy not the very man holding him captive. Since the pianist seemed especially displeased with this, Prussia began cooing over him and brought one hand up to stroke his back in a gesture of mock affection.

"What do you think you're doing?" Austria managed irritably from his rather humiliating position, his voice betraying how embarrassed he was of the whole situation.

"You wanted a hug, remember?" Prussia answered with an almost admirable amount of cheek. "Wow, you don't even know what a hug feels like? That's so sad that I'll have to do it more."

"I do not recall wanting this."

"Poor baby, you can't even remember begging me for a hug."

"I did not beg you for a hug."

"You can't lie to me, Roddy."

"Which is precisely why I am telling you the truth."

"I think you just want my great hugs."

"I really do not. I came down to my kitchen to eat breakfast - which I did not finish - and that is all."

"Hey, you're right; you _didn't_ finish my amazing cooking," Prussia reaffirmed in a way which was so unbelievably teasing and growing increasingly smug as it progressed that Austria found himself simultaneously flustered - which was more a result of his current position and his internal interpretations of what events could possibly follow those words - and insulted. "You want me to feed it to you?"

"No!" Austria barked sharply, succeeding in pushing away just enough to be able to look Prussia - who was now looking down at him teasingly - in the eye, just in time for his face to heat up with embarrassment at the very thought of such an improper thing. This only seemed to reassure Prussia in his continuation of this treatment. "I am quite capable of feeding myself, thank you."

"Really? I don't think that you can eat without your arms."

"If you let go of me, I will prove my ability to you."

Prussia hummed in mock consideration for a moment at this, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling to add to the effect of the act.

"Nein, you'll be too devastated by the lack of my awesome hugs to eat anything. I can't do that."

"I really will not be. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me go, I would very much like to play the piano."

"What happened to having the best breakfast of your life?"

"I had nearly finished it anyway. Let go of me."

"Are you sure you don't want a kiss before you go?"  
" _What_?" Austria squawked indignantly. With this new and looming threat, he began struggling significantly more than he had ever dared to throughout the ordeal. Though this was not saying much, as he did not make it very far as a result of his captor's full intentions to keep him there, Prussia seemed to find the effort put into the attempted escape hysterical and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Gilbert, don't you dare!"

"Calm down, Roddy!" Prussia wheezed between cackles. "I was kidding! If I'd known you were going to react like that, I would have actually done it!"

It took quite some time for this laughter to dull at all. With how much Prussia was shaking in his wild fit, his primary focus had shifted from keeping the Austrian where he was to replaying that reaction to the offer in his recent memory. This opportunity meant that there might be a chance for escape. Of course, Austria leapt on this chance as soon as he saw it and managed to worm his way out of the cage of Prussia's arms. And, for a moment, he was reintroduced to freedom.

Unfortunately, this moment was proven to be fleeting, as Austria knew the feeling of arms wrapping themselves around him before he could make it anywhere. However, this time it was different. Only one found its way to his back, while the other crawled underneath the underside of his knee. Confusion crept into his mind and he looked back at Prussia in search of an end to his lack of understanding, but as soon as he did, an idea dawned on him. A dreadful and mortifying idea which was only confirmed by the sight of the only just calmed expression on Prussia's face. He opened his mouth to protest this before it began and looked around hurriedly for a method of escape, but found no sufficient words before the air around him rushed past him and the floor was suddenly much farther down than it had been just seconds earlier. Instead, the only vague kind of protest which made it past Austria's lips was an incoherent squeak, which sent Prussia back under a wave of laughter and teasing coos.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Austria demanded, his entire face burning as he came to the realization that he was being helplessly cradled like a kitten by a man who invaded his home without permission with no other motive than to indulge in his alcohol and be entertained and was now smirking down at him.

"You said you wanted to go to the piano."

"And you are not the piano."

"That's where we're going, hübsche Kleine Prinzessin."

"I can walk to my piano by myself, thank you very much. Now, please, put me down."

"What fun would that be?"

With that, Prussia strolled across the few strides of the kitchen floor to the landing at the foot of the stairway. Austria silently noted with great irritation how little the former nation was slowed by the extra weight and with what ease he was carried across the entire room. The plethora of aggravated protests and attempts to break free were easily ignored, aside from one or two sly remarks and chuckles. Austria's backlash was at its peak when they reached the stairs, which were steep enough for one person, but would surely cause the two of them to tumble backwards and break something. Prussia appeared exactly as sympathetic as he normally would and began up the steps anyway.

A low grunt could be heard as Prussia forced his body over the first few steps, but he adjusted quickly, as he had been taught. The natural high was both an advantage and a setback, as it created a distraction from the actual effort which was being put into making it to the top of the staircase, but the worst of the laughter nearly sent the both of them tumbling down to the hardwood below. Every time there was any danger, he was well aware of it, not only because of his own instincts, but because the Austrian in his arms would cling to the hems of his shirt and make some variation of noise to remind the Prussian in a sudden lapse of pride. Thankfully, by the time they made it to flat ground, Prussia had not fallen once. This did not spare him from chastisement from Austria regarding his recklessness in allowing them to come so close to harm, but it did his ego well, even as he took a second or two to catch his breath before heading into the inviting space inside the favored room before them.

Once Prussia passed the doorway, he found his way to the conspicuous instrument with great ease, and rather unceremoniously dumped Austria onto the cushioned bench in front of the piano. He took a moment to look at his handiwork proudly. Austria, evidently, did not share in this pride, as he looked up at Prussia with folded arms and narrowed eyes which shone with annoyance.

"Do not ever do that again," Austria demanded, his voice devoid of amusement, but abundant in vexation. Hidden beneath those layers of accented irk, one could find the true embarrassment felt by the younger of the two men, which did Prussia a queer amount of pleasure.

"I'm not making any promises, Princess!" Prussia snickered, earning him a noise of annoyance from the younger man. Austria treated him to a light roll of his eyes and turned back to the instrument before him, a select list of compositions to choose from already in mind. And, for the first time in what felt like far longer than an eternity, everything was normal.

 **Translations:**

 **Dummkopf - Fool, general term for a stupid person**

 **Nein - No**

 **Gute Nacht - Good night**

 **Bruder - Brother**

 **Auf Wiederhören - Basically, it's goodbye, but it more directly translates to "Until I hear you again," which apparently, people sometimes say instead of "Auf Wiedersehen," - the more well known German farewell - when ending phone calls, because it's more literal, seeing as you are in most cases not seeing a person over a phone call, but rather, you are hearing them instead. That sounds right to me, but I am a relatively uninformed American child who is monolingual and has never been to any Germanic country in her entire life.**

 **Hübsche Kleine Prinzessin - Pretty little princess**

 **Kaiserschmarrn - A kind of Austrian pancake which is served in small pieces with rum-covered raisins**

 **A/N**

 **Wow, I got more done in this chapter than I have in any other that I've published so far (I have one which is almost finished being written out and is set some time later in the story which is almost twelve thousand words, but that's not important right now, because we will be free to criticize my time management skills later). Also, I really wanted to write a scene in which they're just being silly, as they so often are, in spite of the circumstances. No matter how or why he came, Prussia is still Prussia, so, he's bound to do a little teasing. Ah, it's so nice to enjoy writing Prussia's antics. My editor told me to "Make it gayer" and I have taken this advice and run with it.**

 **Also, the line:** " _ **Okay, I don't actually know anything about this. The last time I had to see something like this was back in 1945, when West was . . . you know. The Allies got to all of us."**_ **is a reference to the mass suicides which occurred in Berlin in 1945 when the Allies were closing in on Germany. When it was pretty much certain that Germany was going to lose the war, Germany experienced the largest mass suicide in its history. According to reports, up to 2,000 people commit suicide because they either believed that death would be better than whatever the Allies would do to them, were children who killed themselves because their parents told them to in an effort to protect them, or were devoted Nazi supporters and couldn't bear to live in a world that wasn't Hitler's. As it turned out, when the Red Army did actually arrive in Germany, the Russian soldiers conducted mass rape amongst German civilians, so I suppose that those people were right in assuming that they wouldn't be treated well.**

 **On a brighter note, thank you so much for reading. Now that I have my third terrible literature teacher in a row (I can't switch out of my literature class without changing up the rest of my schedule and my school doesn't offer A.P. or honors classes because I'm still in middle school), I'm more desperate to write than ever. I may struggle to find the time, but I definitely have the constant motivation. Alright, once again, thank you for reading and do have a wonderful day while you're at it.**

 **~Aleberle**


	8. Chapter 7

**First of all, I would like to say that I am** _ **incredibly**_ **sorry for the long wait! In actuality, I had this chapter done a good while before the end of October, but my editor was unable to proof-read it until today, and I wanted to have everything checked over before I posted it. Her high school (especially her A.P. classes) requires a lot of homework, studying, and test-taking, so she can't always be free to look over my FanFiction of something which she doesn't really ship (personally, she's more of a Gerstria shipper, which is largely my fault). For taking the time to edit this anyway, thank you to my sister and editor! Also, I'm sure that you all know the drill with the German. The translations will be down at the bottom, but there aren't many words to translate, so it shouldn't be too large of an inconvenience.**

 **Before I go, I would like to thank not-sp00ky-soup for reviewing my work and for wishing me a nice day. Don't worry - you're not wasting my time, it's a pleasure to hear from you! Thank you very much for reading my work in the first place, even if I'm not the person you were looking for! Also, I wish you luck in reconnecting with Briana! Have a wonderful day!**

A few hours had passed since breakfast. As surprising and gratifying as it was, Prussia was able to put his reason for being there out of his mind. Well, it was much easier when he had something better to devote his focus to, and how flustered and annoyed Austria was at him for carrying him up the stairs, even though it had happened a good few hours ago, was more than something better. Besides, the Austrian was still angrily composing, so it still counted as recent.

In the time which had past, Prussia had received a message from Germany stating that he would be able to bring his work with him and arrive much sooner and two from France, which he was pretty sure were composed under the influence.

It was relaxing, beyond anything else. After all, it had been nearly two weeks since Prussia had been able to keep anything seriously on his mind besides all of this. And this - it wasn't just normal, it was, in a way, better than normal. Actually, he doubted that he had ever seriously talked with Austria this long about anything other than politics. And that day, they actually did things. He got to tease Austria and Austria managed to make Prussia get him coffee from downstairs. Sure, the pianist acted like he didn't want the company, but Prussia was pretty sure that they both knew that he would be lonely if he didn't have it.

On the other hand, it rapidly became awkward. _Incredibly_ awkward. Despite the calm being, for lack of a better word, calming, it felt suspiciously like the eye of the storm. Like something was about to come crashing down in a sudden reminder of the disaster around him. And that just made almost every interaction they had at least a little bit uncomfortable.

The few times which Prussia tried to start any kind of conversation, just to see if he could get anything out of it, Austria was still in a huff and either ignored him or gave a curt remark which Prussia had grown to realize had no real malicious intent. Amongst the better results of such responses was that they were normal, at least for Austria, and having the attitude between them be largely normal did great leagues to ease his tension. Not only that, but it was remarkably funny to imagine that Austria was still pouting over being carried earlier.

Everything about how Austria was acting made Prussia want to pick him up again, just because he loved the reaction which he was getting. Not that he hadn't tried already, but his attempts had merely resulted in being angrily swatted away and yelled at, which was, of course, understandably entertaining, but had become boring after an hour or two.

The only change in these few patterns occurred after one of many considerable expanses of time which succeeded Prussia running out of things to say and giving up on trying to whine his way into some attention. This would not have been at all unordinary, should Austria not have suddenly halted the composition which he had currently been working on. Despite his little knowledge of music, Prussia knew just enough from hearing it so much to be able to infer that the composition was not actually finished - an assumption which was further proven by a glance at the pianist after several seconds of silence which revealed that he didn't look the kind of frustrated which he always did when he missed a key. Just as Prussia decided to ask what was wrong, the younger man sighed under his breath, rose from the piano bench, distanced himself from said object, turned heel, and began his way out of the room.

"Hey!" Prussia called after him, ripping his head off of where it had rested in his arms on the lid of the piano and allowing his gaze to guiltlessly trail after the other man. It was hardly an instant before he was also on his feet and following the eloquent Austrian in his trail. "Hey, are you listening to me? Where do you think you're going? Are you deaf? I'm talking to you, Priss. Hello?"

"I believe I am walking down the stairs of the house which I own, Gilbert," Austria replied simply, proving the validity of his word by proceeding to do just that. His voice was forced to raise itself in order to survive the deafening threat of footsteps on hollowed wood and their echo against paling walls. "There is no need to be so loud."

"You just made me go downstairs, like, an hour ago to get you some coffee. Why are you going yourself now?"

Clearly, by the way Austria looked over his shoulder at Prussia, he thought that his intent was incredibly obvious. Unfortunately, this facial expression did little to explain it to Prussia, who responded by tilting his head just barely to the side and causing his own expression to appear very confused. At this, Austria clicked his tongue irritably and danced off of the final step of the staircase wordlessly aside from a muttered insult which sounded as though it was focused on what a fool he thought his elder was.

Before Prussia could think of a proper retort, Austria was at the door and collecting his wallet - which was so elderly that Prussia was genuinely surprised that it wasn't deteriorating, as he was positive that he had seen that thing before the beginning of the century. At this, the Austrian halted, his fingers resting on the fading handle of the door, and turned to look back at Prussia expectantly.

"Are you coming?" Austria asked, somewhat clarifying the purpose behind his raised eyebrow. Prussia, no matter what the other man's intent had been, was still bemused.

"Coming?" Prussia repeated dumbly, face further contorting and nose crinkling in confusion. "Where the hell am I supposed to be coming to?"

"I wish to make sachertorte and, since _someone_ decided to use my kitchen without my permission, I am afraid I am running low on sugar. Ludwig usually escorts me to the market, but he hasn't visited for a while."

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned: I have made breakfast for a lonely aristocrat who has so few friends that no one has told him that he still wears that thing around his neck that's like a lazy tie for the dinosaurs and everyone else stopped doing that two centuries ago. Oh, no."

"It's called a cravat, Gilbert, and I could very well have made my own breakfast."

"Yeah, but I beat you to it, and you appreciated it."

"My point was that I am going to the market."

"How are you supposed to get to the market? You can't even get half of a meter outside before you get lost."

"That's why you're coming," Austria scoffed, staring skeptically at Prussia as though he were looking at a poorly behaved child who was missing the key point of his parent's instructions. He must have thought that it was especially easy to decipher, as he relinquished his casual hold on the doorknob in order to fold his arms across his chest.

"Oh," Prussia realized a little later than he should have, "Right. But we're taking my car. I'm not driving a horse-drawn carriage into town."

"I do not own a horse-drawn carriage anymore, Gilbert, and you had better not have been drinking before this."

"Relax, I haven't drunk in, like, six hours."

"What?"

"Hey, six hours is forever ago! I'm completely sober!"

"I changed my mind - we will go to Naschmarkt tomorrow."

"No way! We're going today!"

"You are in no condition to be driving."

"Pfft, of course I am!"

"You hate going to Naschmarkt."

"That's why I'm getting it over with!"

"That isn't very reassuring."

"Oh, come on!" Tugging on Austria's arm after swiftly grabbing it, Prussia surpassed the other in distance toward their destination and took over the abandoned control of the knob. "You'll have loads of fun! Don't you remember that I'm with you?"

In compliance, Austria sighed and followed Prussia's lead out of the door and into the passenger's seat of the Prussian's German-made Volkswagen. Not much was said between the two on the way there besides the occasional quiet banter which felt somehow lacking when it came. To fill the silence, Prussia chose to play exceptional music of his choice with excellent guitar solos and very passionate screams. Ever so shockingly, Austria did not share the other man's opinion regarding the pieces and was more vocal of his distaste for the music than he had been about anything else for the last few hours. Of course, Prussia was eager to stand in defence of his taste, which resulted in an argument which lasted all the way to their intended destination.

One of the first things to occur to Prussia upon their arrival at Naschmarkt was the absurd amount of people crammed into such a small space. He didn't know whether they had come on a busy day or if tourism had gone under a sudden explosion since the last time he had been to this particular market, but it looked as though certain areas were ready to start spilling people out of the sides.

The thought just after that was that the market was incredibly large and Prussia had absolutely no idea how Austria had ever thought that he would be able to combine his skill of direction and the size of the place and its occupation and come up with an assurance that he would be able to navigate his way through. To clarify, Prussia wasn't sure if _he_ would be able to navigate his way through there, let alone the man standing next to him, who just so happened to have the absolute worst sense of direction which he had ever come across in all his years of living.

And just following was the realization that the two of them had come for sugar and that there was absolutely none of that in sight. Even as they began squeezing their way through the crowd - well, Prussia was squeezing, Austria seemed to have some kind of magical spell cast of the crowd which made them able to track and predict his movements in order to move out of his way perfectly - every stand which he could see looked either like it was selling baked goods or fresh produce.

"Do they even sell sugar here?" Prussia asked skeptically, looking between various fresh produce stands which certainly sold nothing of the sort. "This place looks more like a farmer's market."

"Fool, would I come here if they did not sell sugar?" Austria retorted rhetorically. "They normally do not sell sugar, but I know a man who will sell some to me at his stand because he knows me."

"These people know you? How do you even get out of your house enough to know people?"

"Your Bruder has taken me to Naschmarkt every month or two in recent years, but I used to have a personal escort."

"Geez, how old is this guy?"

"It's impolite to ask someone's age, Gilbert."

"Yeah, but if this guy's been around so long that you took a personal escort to see him, he's got to be at least eighty or ninety. What'd he do to get your attention - fight in the war?"

"For your information, his father fought in the war, and he took over the stand at a young age to help support his family."

"So, did he just not support the Anschluss or something, or why'd you like him?"

"Idiot, no member of the opposition would carelessly defy the government so openly like that. Our resistors were . . . removed. You may have gotten to see them before their time came."

"Oh, yeah," Prussia responded uncomfortably. Whether he had seen them or not, he couldn't remember any of them. All the plethora of faces who had passed him by and into the slaughterhouse of his people's design had just began merging together to create one lifeless thing which was to be regarded as an animal, after a while. There couldn't possibly be any person who was involved in such events still alive today who wouldn't give their life up to remember the faces of their victims. But none of them could, no matter how much they may have wished to and despite the upcoming anniversary of the Kristallnacht. "Sorry about that."

"I know," Austria accepted with a slight nod of his head. He didn't have to say that he understood - that much was a mutual understanding between the two, as it had been for centuries, but especially since the Second World War. Prussia could hear it, too. Just a slight adjustment in the way he spoke, but one which could be heard all the same. "But I appreciated Josef's work ethic and I appreciated being greeted decently and not by that awful salute. Since he was only a child, there would be no punishment for his restraint. I don't think his father approved of the Anschluss and he was comforted because I never wore the uniform or any nonsensical crosses."

"So, did he sell sugar then, or was that a National Day celebration thing?"

"No," Austria responded with a shake of his head. "He normally sells spices, but somehow he managed to find a way to find sugar during the war when hardly anyone else could. I must have mentioned wishing for some, because he began bringing it to me and I paid him accordingly. Of course, such things are no longer scare, but I have never been one to put aside tradition, so I come back here when I need some."

Prussia snorted in agreement, a smile cracking past his lips. It had been a while since he had heard such an accurate statement. Not only did Austria dress like no one had informed him that the eighteenth century had already ended, but for years now, Germany had desperately made certain to keep Austria away from children who wanted to know the story of how they got presents on Christmas, because Austria still insisted on telling them that a weird goat-demon and a woman who essentially practiced conscious mummification on the living would come to their houses to beat and torture them for their poor behavior. Personally, Prussia found this hilarious, but Germany was less amused by it.

"Ja, I know you're boring, Roddy," Prussia teased. Austria chose to ignore this remark, meaning that he wasn't going to give the other anything else to go off of. Prussia grumbled incoherently under his breath as another burst of chilled air assaulted his uncovered face. Despite it only being the first full week of November, the entire city seemed to have adapted to winter temperatures. Snowfall had already begun and the frozen liquid dangled from the roofs of nearby buildings and cracked underneath his feet. This fact was grossly unfair, if you were to ask him. "Did you come all the way out here for some sugar? This place is huge - don't you want anything else?"

"You're forgetting that I, unlike you, am not one to make irresponsible decisions with my money."

"I make great decisions with my money!"

"You buy every useless doll which China scams you into."

"It's not scamming if they're amazing!"

"That is not what you say every time you realize that you no longer want them and come to me to dispose of them."

"I'm not _disposing_ of them; Gilbird just told me that you really wanted some!"

"Gilbert, at least _try_ to come up with a decent excuse."

Before Prussia could come up with a retort, the vibrating ring of his cellphone cut the both of them off from their conversation, prompting Austria to move on to another section of stands. With attentions now focused, Prussia rummaged through his pockets until he located and retrieved his phone, which was now lit up with the ever-relieving image of his younger brother's face and phone number. He clicked the green, circular button which allowed him to accept the call and pressed the device to his ear, listening intently for the familiar voice of his own flesh and blood.

"Hey, West!" Prussia greeted with an elated nature, looking about the place in search of the Austrian, who he had temporarily lost track of in the midst of the crowd. "Did you miss me already?"

"Not exactly," Germany stated apathetically. "I just wanted to tell you that I may be able to arrive sooner than I expected."

"Really?"

"Ja, I was as surprised as you are, knowing my boss and her government workers."

"How much sooner?"

"Well, I might be able to arrive in under a week, maybe about six days, if I am able to complete my work on time-"

"Hey, you're great at completing work! I should know - you do get it from me, after all."

"I don't know about that, but if I am able to finish the most important of my work now, I may be allowed to travel to Vienna in about three or four days to complete the rest of my work."

"See? I knew your boss would be impressed by my skill!"

"Somehow, I don't think that was it. Just call me if anything goes wrong, alright?"

Prussia didn't answer immediately. He didn't know exactly what to say. Something _was_ wrong. Something was incredibly wrong, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to say it. Maybe he couldn't bring himself to validate the truth by speaking it, maybe it didn't seem right to make an announcement of this over the phone, but he didn't say anything. But it was okay, it would have to be because Germany would know exactly what to do when he got over there and everything would be alright.

"Ja, Ja, I will!" Prussia responded instead. "You're such a worry wart - always thinking something's wrong! Don't keep me waiting, West!"

"I'll do my best," Germany agreed after an instant of quiet. "Auf wiederhören, Bruder. Send Roderich my regards."

"Tschüss, West! I'll tell the Priss that you said 'hi.'"

With that, the line went dead, and Prussia's focus once again became on saving Austria from his own sense of direction. On that note, it occurred to him that he had no idea where Austria was. That was an incredibly concerning thought, as, knowing him, he could be absolutely _anywhere_. In the time it took anyone else to walk down a street, he could probably end up in some random city in China through some means that no one else would ever even begin to be able to understand.

' _He's as good at getting lost as Feli is at surrendering.'_ Prussia thought to himself, laughing under his breath at his own observation. The last time he had been to Naschmarkt, it had been far less crowded - both in shoppers and shops. Now, it was getting suffocating to have to shove past so many people who looked just enough like the personification of their homeland that said homeland wouldn't stand out in the slightest. The only real differences he had to go on from a long distance away were Mariazelle and the Austrian's incredibly outdated fashion taste.

That was another thing which Austria was good at - disappearing seamlessly into any given group of people, usually at the greatest possible inconvenience to anyone who he was supposed to be traveling with. Which was exactly what he was doing now, and he was far from failing at making it at an inconvenience to Prussia, who was beginning to justify the idea that there were thousands of people crammed into that market who all reminded him vaguely like their homeland in one respect or another. It was almost eerie. Maybe he had forgotten about or undermined it over his years of maintaining his status as a retired nation, but it was weird how reminiscent all these people were of their nation. Some of them didn't look even remotely similar to Austria, but something about them made them _feel_ Austrian. Had people been able to recognize that about his own people when he had them? Perhaps he had just gotten used to the feeling of West's and his own people. Or maybe he just knew Austria better and for longer. If anything, he would have to agree that the two of them were uncommonly familiar with one another.

Either way, Austria was gone and Prussia had very little clue as to where he could have possibly gone. Naturally, this meant that Prussia found himself searching fruitlessly for the aristocrat who needed to be found. During this search, it really did dawn on him that there were far too many people there for being in one place and at one time.

Such thoughts were especially prevalent once Prussia checked his phone and realized that he had been pointlessly wandering around for almost twenty minutes without finding anymore he knew. By that point, he was seriously considering giving up and waiting in the car. The only things stopping him were the revelations that he had no idea how to get back and that neither would Austria. Fortunately, he didn't have to start risking getting even more lost on his way back, as he ultimately managed to spot the familiar hickory lock of Mariazell over by a stand which seemed rather left alone, aside from considerate glances, by the other shoppers. By some miracle, it seemed that Austria appeared to have managed to make it to the stand which he had wished to visit.

As expected, the man sat in front of Austria was clearly above eighty and looked to be becoming senile. Despite how far his stomach protruded, he seemed frail, which was an estimate confirmed by the impressive cane which was propped up against a spice rack which looked beyond too heavy for him to be able to transport on his own. That, and his thin, bony hands had a tremor to them which could be noticed even from so far away. Even so, Prussia couldn't remember the last time he had seen such a great and pure smile on someone's face. No matter how horrendous his physical condition was, he seemed happy enough. Maybe that was why Austria liked having him around.

And as much as Austria liked him, Josef must have liked his homeland's personification twice as much. Though he seemed friendly to everyone who passed by, he looked at Austria like he was _family_. If that was it, then Prussia really couldn't blame the other nation for wanting to be around the elderly man. With ease, he could name off more nations than he cared to count who would kill to have someone look at them like that. Alliances were swell enough, but that kind of unconditional care was nearly impossible to come by. Suddenly, Prussia found himself hoping that Josef would live for a long time to come. Losing someone and something like that would have to be crushing. After all, losing Fritz had _devastated_ him.

One way or another, Prussia found himself watching from a distance as Josef did indeed pull a special bag of sugar, which was sat on the floor and beside his cane, up and onto the counter. Austria was clearly protesting the elderly man fetching the bag himself, but Josef simply smiled and dismissed the concern with a wave of one hand, then pushed the bag across the counter with trembling hands. They clearly had some kind of conversation going, but about what Prussia couldn't say. Mutual laughter was shared and Austria seemed to briefly complain about some other aspect of daily life, which the elderly man listened to in that state of peaceful merriment which tended to bless people once they reached a certain age. Somewhere along the line, Josef brought out a container of what appeared to be cocoa and offered it to the younger-looking man, who accepted it once he had paid accordingly for both ingredients. Well, relatively accordingly, as Prussia could tell, even from so far away, that more was paid than what could possibly have been due, which he assumed was intentional considering how careful the Austrian nation was with his money. And if Austria really was intentionally giving money to someone without any sort of threat forced upon him, then he really did see something special in Josef.

When Austria eventually left the stand, he was smiling. Not the kind of smile which was forced in order to appear polite, but the kind of contented sigh of a smile which couldn't be well faked; the kind of smile which made Prussia almost want to smile, too. Josef called back to him in a Viennese accent which was so thick that Prussia could only assume that he had said some form of regional goodbye and waved at his homeland, who mimicked the words of departure with a notable fondness. That man had a good voice - the kind where his smile seeped into his words and you could hear it, regardless of whether or not you could understand what he was saying. Yes, Prussia concluded contentedly as Austria reached his side, Josef was a man worthy of his company.

And also one who shouldn't have to suffer at the hands of what Austria had done.

Prussia could feel his mood darkening as soon as the thought entered his mind. But it was only fair - this man seemed to think of Austria as family and Austria was off trying to get himself killed. If Germany or Fritz had done something like that, he could only imagine how he would feel. Having someone as close as family attempt something like that could kill a man of Josef's age. He was such a sweet, old man, and the personification of his homeland might have been the only person who he still regarded as family left alive. No one deserved that. No one deserved to stay up at night wondering if it was their fault or how they were supposed help or if they even could or what might happen if they really couldn't. Especially not someone of his age and especially not someone who had lived through their boyhood during wartime and felt the loss of the presence of a father figure because of that.

It was then that Prussia decided that if Austria was really good at anything - besides the obvious skills which he was so proud of - he was an absolute master at making people suffer without actually doing anything to them. He could let the lives of millions slip through the world's fingers for no other reason than that he couldn't be bothered to do anything about a mess which he allowed, but wouldn't partake in. And _damn_ , could he make people worry. Some remark or some gesture would carelessly slip from him and then, he would watch obliviously as the people around him were set into a panic. All it took was a word or two of the unaware implication that he hadn't eaten or wasn't caring for himself and Germany would be hurriedly texting his brother to go and visit Austria because he was so distanced from the rest of the world that no one could tell if anything he was saying was true or if those little mistakes he mentioned really were mistakes made by an aristocrat who just wasn't used to living by his lonesome. With the possibility of N.A.T.O. gone and the terms of the Allies making it illegal for him to form any sort of alliance, no one aside from Prussia, his brother, and Hungary ever really bothered with him because they had no legal obligations to do so.

And then, Austria just had to go and play around with a knife and be so careless as to leave it out in the open. Actually, Prussia was grateful that it had been left out in the open because at this point he was essentially grasping at straws to get any information about Austria's well being and it was getting to the point where being oblivious to just about anything was out of the question altogether. He wanted the Austrian to get better, but this wasn't as simple as stitching a patient's wound. The situation as a whole was more complicated than any war which he had ever been in, as it was more confusing and more personally concerning.

Hell, Prussia was worried about him. By this point, he was willing to admit it freely because was he _worried_. He found his glance repeatedly being drawn back to Austria's covered arms, the question of what exactly was lying underneath those sleeves tearing at his mind mercilessly. On one hand, he wanted to pick Austria up, shake him by the shoulders, and make him get better, but he also knew that wouldn't work. He knew there was a long road ahead of them, but already Prussia wanted to hitchhike.

On the very limited bright side of things, Austria _had_ promised to come and talk to Prussia instead of reverting to . . . to who knows what? That was something. It wasn't enough to calm the worry or the bubbling anger which rose in Prussia like smog, but it was something. There was some glimmer of hope which still existed. That was all he had needed to lead his men onto the battlefield, why shouldn't it be all he needed to do what he needed to do now? Austria would be _fine_ , he always would. Prussia just needed to act as he would under normal circumstances as to make things make like his actions and go back to normal.

"And here I thought you were so stingy," Prussia smirked, eyeing Austria with a visible intent which matched his teasing voice. Austria must not have been paying much attention to his surroundings, as he seemed startled to hear a voice directed at him. He blinked once or twice in a momentary daze, then looked up at the elder man in want of an explanation.

"Excuse me?" Austria asked. He cocked his head to the side moderately in his lack of understanding and studied the other silently in search of some sort of a clarification.

"Giving extra money to an old man. What's next - are you going to found a charity?"

"I gave him exactly how much he needed. You must be mistaken."

"You can't lie to me, Prinzessin. I saw that. Are you getting soft in your old age?"

"You saw incorrectly, Gilbert," Austria huffed, scanning the labels on the bag of sugar which Prussia was sure had been read and reread by the Austrian enough times that no one could possibly find them even remotely interesting anymore. After centuries of working at it, he was running out of ways to avoid conversation which he didn't care for. That was new. He always had a way to worm out of an argument without actually winning it. But if Austria wasn't going to come up with anything more, neither was Prussia, so he chose to follow in the footsteps of his usual response for something of the sort and cackled mirthly.

Then again, maybe Prussia shouldn't be teasing him, just for now. He didn't think that he was crossing any lines, but he also didn't know exactly what it was that Austria was going through. It seemed like every time he started crossing the right boundaries, more came up in their place, and now he didn't know which ones he was supposed to challenge anymore. But that image, the one he could see so clearly after he had conjured it up in his mind, of intentional lacerations traveling up and down his pianist's forearm . . .

. . . That wasn't okay.

"You know . . ." Prussia coughed, breaking the silence out of unpleasant necessity. Whether anything he had said really had gotten to Austria or not, he still felt as though he should break the ice. Perhaps Austria sensed that this was his intent, as he shifted in the beginnings of discomfort and apprehension like he could feel the eyes sinking into the side of his head. "You know I don't- I don't think you're all that bad, right? I don't hate you or anything like that."

Austria lost all noticeable motion. He stopped walking and looked up at his elder consequently. Prussia stopped, too. All the people around them kept bustling and scurrying like plague rats, but those two stood perfectly still for as long as they needed to. The pianist just kept staring strangely, like he couldn't possibly have heard correctly and like he understood the kind of hidden emotion which words from conservative eras meant, but didn't directly admit to. Like the existence of the people surrounding them hadn't even occurred to him. He looked almost vulnerable in his how incredulous he was. Prussia kind of liked that. Maybe it was selfish, considering the circumstances, but he liked it when Austria was willing to put aside his pride and his guard and just be honest and open with him. It was a rare kind of treat which few had ever known access to, though he would have liked to think that he was the only one.

"I know." Austria uttered ultimately.

"And you know I'm not going anywhere, right?" Prussia continued, leaping on the opportunity which had been granted to him. If he really did have the chance to reassure the man beside him like he thought that he did, then he wasn't going to let that go.

"I don't think I could get rid of you if I wanted to," Austria concluded with a line which would have fit so perfectly into their usual banter but felt more earnest than that. Whether he had intended it or not, it made Prussia feel like perhaps he was more needed that he was given credit for. That implication was more than a little reassuring.

"Nope, 'cause I don't like my aristocrat getting lonely!"

"I don't need your company to keep myself from being lonely," Austria insisted, but not before biting back a half of a smile. And, because of that momentary glimpse, Prussia broke out into a broad grin which stretched across his face like a banner. This was one of the first times he had seen Austria smiling since he had arrived and one of the first times he had seen Austria smiling at something which he had said altogether. If you would have asked him years, or even weeks ago, he would never come close to believing that a half of a smile from the pianist could make his day like it just had. Or feel so . . . oddly reassured. Especially not the way it swelled in his chest and made the smile he wore feel so easy.

And so did the rest of their conversation. Prussia soon discovered that his normal teasing became more comfortable than it had been minutes earlier and Austria made haste to come up with sharp-tongued replies which Prussia was both irritated and relieved by. During this, it occurred to him that he had never given their banter enough credit for what it was. It was . . . well, it was cozier than he had remembered it being. Fighting physically had become far beyond out of the question as the years had progressed - though Prussia would be forced to admit to himself that he missed that kind of fighting, at least a little bit - but their verbal challenges were still fun.

Maybe that was why Prussia stuck around him. Well, that and the food, but he already knew that he stayed at least partially for the younger man's gift in baking. What hadn't been as apparent to him was that he had grown used to Austria being there. Everything around them changed so dramatically, but Austria managed to stay exactly the same - cynical and quick-witted with that touch of superiority that, for whatever reason, strangers found charming. It was even down to his clothes, which had remained outdated since Victorian-era clothing had gone out of style. He made himself what one might call _timeless_.

If Prussia fought a war, there was Austria.

If Prussia remained peaceful, there was Austria.

If Prussia found himself on the throne of the most feared empire in the world, there was Austria.

And if Prussia found himself stripped of everything he had ever once laid claim to in a relative instant, there was Austria.

Even from behind a wall. And here he was now - raising an eyebrow like the only constant in Prussia's life that he was, as odd as that sounded. Fighting the tongue with the same vigor with which he had fought the sword. In his own obscure way, he had always been there with his elder, offering the kind of stability which could make the difference between sanity and its vice. And now it was Prussia's turn to offer that helpful stability. It was only fair.

Yeah, this was nice.

It was time for him to take his medication. Austria knew that he should take it. He knew he needed to take it. After all, the way he had acted without it . . . that was completely unacceptable. It was undignified and made a terrible mess and Prussia would never let him hear the end of it if he ever so much as considered doing something similar again.

Then again, none of those people has gotten to take their medicine. None of those innocent children were allowed help or love of any sort. None of those helpless angels had been allowed anything. And if they, who had done virtually nothing wrong in their lives and whose few grievances paled in comparison to his own, were not allowed such things, why should he be? They had hardly done anything wrong, but he had done so much wrong. He had deported, harmed, tortured, and slaughtered more people in his lifetime than he cared to think back on, so why should be allowed something so luxurious as medication mere days before the anniversary of the beginning of their unimaginable suffering in his own land?

' _An eye for an eye,_ ' and ' _Skin for skin,_ ' as the scriptures said. Austria couldn't give his own eye and could never experience anything close to what they - the Jews, the Gypsies, the Jehovah's Witnesses, the people who didn't want a spouse of the opposite sex, the socialists, and so many more innocents - had experienced, but he could deny himself the privilege of his skin. He might never be pure again, but he could be closer. He would just need to take smaller steps, like this one. His skin would never truly be pure again, so, in that respect, perhaps his actions those weeks ago reflected his own being. Like his own conscience, they haunted him unceasingly, and, like his innocence, his skin was, and forever would be, ruined. There wasn't anything he could do about it, so why should he go and try to fix any of it with medication which he had only gotten because Switzerland had mentioned it at a meeting?

That, and what had that medication _really_ done for him anyway? It was supposed to make him feel well, but it didn't even do that. Those hideously yellow capsules came with so many terrible things which he had never wanted, and, for stretches of time, everything just felt worse than it ever had before. He knew it did. He had known it for some time but admitting it was more difficult than he would have liked. It would have been comforting to think that nothing would ever go wrong the way it had been going wrong because there was a magical bottle of pills which could fix everything for him, but he was leading himself on with such.

Besides, things hadn't been all that awful before he had started. Yes, he had made a regretable mistake, but it was just that - a mistake. He would be more careful now, so that wouldn't happen. Nothing had really been all that wrong, he had just been acting dramatic and had probably seen something about such things - maybe an article or a news headline - which had corrupted his thoughts. There would be no unsightly consequences of this new decision because it was the right thing to do. That was all there was to it.

Maybe it was selfish to be thinking so much about himself on such an evening, but Austria couldn't help himself. And even if felt that he could have, he didn't need to and didn't want to take those pills. It wasn't fair to take them when others couldn't and he certainly wasn't in the mood for anything of the sort. All he really wanted was to go to bed and rest. Then again, they weren't exactly given lovely beds to fall asleep on, but, in light of current circumstances, he could only imagine Prussia finding some way to make certain that he did at least try to sleep through the night. For that reason and that reason only, he crept into his bedroom without them, footsteps devoid of sound, where he spent the remainder of the night.

It wasn't a perfect night of sleep - in truth, it was one of his least favorite of the year, considering the date would soon mark the first day of the anniversary of Kristallnacht - but he fell into the arms of his restless sleep that night without any need for pills of any kind. The thought of the possible symptoms which might soon arise kept him up for a matter of time, but he gradually learned to expel the thoughts of such things from his mind. No matter the circumstances, everything would eventually be alright. All the innocents could rest more soundly in their home above now that their compensation had been improved, by however small an amount. Perhaps it would soothe them to be assured that the crimes which he had committed against them would never be repeated against anyone else by his hands, and he could wholeheartedly assure anyone who needed it that they never would. History wasn't going to repeat itself; he simply couldn't allow it. That was all there was to it.

 **Translations:**

 **Anschluss - Union, specifically,** _ **the**_ **Anschluss refers to the annexing of Austria into Germany before the beginning of World War Two. By 1943, the Anschluss was widely despised by Austrians, but those who opposed it were present since it was proposed. Reports regarding exactly how tampered with the voting system for that particular election vary (some say only a small percent of people had their votes blocked or changed, while others say that up to or over two-thirds of the country experienced this tyranny), but it is confirmed that Austria's Jewish population were not allowed to vote, due to not being considered citizens.**

 **Ja - Yes**

 **Auf wiederhören - Until I hear you again**

 **Bruder - Brother**

 **Tschüss - Bye (More casual)**

 **Naschmarkt - A famous and popular outdoor market with sixteenth-century origins and that is located in Vienna; it's also Vienna's largest outdoor market, making it normally quite crowded.**

 **Prinzessin - Princess**

 **Kristallnacht - Night of Broken Glass: a two-day event in the years leading up to World War Two, during which Jewish homes and buildings were destroyed and Jewish people were beaten and murdered across Germany and annexed Austria. It is said that the violence was especially severe in Vienna and other Austrian areas.**

 **I have to admit - this one was fun to write! I hope that you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it! To make up for how late this one was, I have the next two chapters nearly done (one of which will be, by far, my longest one yet) and several nearly done chapters scheduled at random points throughout the series. So, the next couple of chapters should be coming out relatively quickly, I just have to go back and work some clever editing on a few various parts as well as work out endings. Thank you for reading, thank you for your support, and thank you for your patience yet again! Do have a wonderful day, all of you!**

 **~Aleberle**


	9. Chapter 8

_**Warning: This chapter contains incredibly sensitive topics, namely, repetitive mentions of the Holocaust. The Holocaust was a terrible, horrific tragedy which should not be condoned nor denied, neither should the oppresors, fictional or otherwise, be excused from their actions and viewed as sweet angels because they feel bad. The guilt they feel is not included to give them pardon; it is included because I feel it is part of the natural human response and it would deny the story a chance to be more realistic and explore the featured characters thoroughly if it was not included. The details of the Holocaust which are mentioned are not especially graphic (by standards of comparison to the full detail of the actual event), but the very nature of this event is enough to deter some readers from continuing past this point, and if you are one of those, I would encourage you now to**_ **please leave** _ **, because I do not wish to upset you more than is necessary with a story of this nature. I also understand that many of you feel it is offensive to mention historic tragedies in something such as fanworks and I understand where you are coming from, and because of that I would like to inform you now that the primary reason why I am interested in this series is because of history and how it affects individual nations, therefore, I am not afraid to bring up history as a valid topic. Additionally, there is a mention of religion inside this chapter as well as the consumption of alcoholic beverages, which have also been known to make individuals uncomfortable. I am sorry if this is the case, and I hope that you are able to find a better story which will be more enjoyable for you.**_

 **With this message in place, I would also like to note that this entire work is very dark in nature. In it, I have gone over, and will continue to go over, extremely sensitive topics. It is very likely that the rating of this story will rise with the very next chapter. This is not because of anything remotely sexual nor of foul language. There will be absolutely nothing of sexual relations nor considerably inappropriate language within anything which I write at all, let alone on this website. If the rating does go up, it will simply be because I want readers to fully understand how serious these topics are, including, but possibly not limited to:**

 **Self-harm**

 **Suicidal behavior of _any kind_**

 **World War Two**

 **That being said, I hope that those of you who do stay enjoy the rest of the ride and find understanding for me by realizing why specific topics are gone over. Thank you very much for reading, and translations from German to English can be found at the bottom of the page, just above the A/N, as per usual.**

Prussia knew what was wrong as soon as he woke up to a fixed frown on his face and an unmistakable air of dread. He knew that it was today, no one needed to tell him that. It was one of those things which just filled the air and sucked the natural joy from the day like a black hole. He could feel it like he could feel the looming presence of some promised assassin or enemy soldier, which made getting up a suddenly unappealing task.

So, he didn't. Instead, he groaned under his breath to a nonexistent audience and laid on his back, glaring up at the ceiling and counting the seconds which passed by until not even that was helpful anymore. The paint job on the ceiling got progressively less interesting the more he stared at it and he found himself shutting his eyes out of boredom. Boredom which quickly developed into a need to just not be awake anymore. Maybe he could waste a few hours sleeping through the day. The less he had to know of it, the better. Sleeping had to be one of the easiest tasks he had ever confronted, so falling back asleep couldn't be that hard, could it?

It could.

He didn't know how many minutes had passed when he gave up on falling back asleep, but he was sure that it wasn't enough. He groaned, louder this time, in frustrated betrayal. No one was listening to his complaints and that was stupid. Because of all the emptiness, he would have to yank his phone off of the charger on the wall in order to find his most basic needs for attention satisfied.

As it turned out, his phone was no better than all the people who weren't there, because it refused to tell him anything other than what he already knew - _6:23 AM, November ninth._ He _knew that_ , thank you very much. He wasn't stupid. And he wasn't going to sit and look at the date for hours, so he angrily pushed past the lockscreen, leaving him with the irritating realization that the calendar was not a deletable app on this model. That was stupid, too. And so was the lack of messages from anyone on his phone. Probably because they thought he needed space. Thoughts like that were the most stupid of all and didn't even make any sense. Like he sat around on the anniversary of one of many murdering sprees and thought about how great it would be to have nothing but _space_ from the rest of the world.

In a fit of frustration, he slammed his phone down on the bed sheets and huffed angrily. For a device which was programmed to keep him unhealthily addicted to cheap entertainment, it wasn't doing a very good job of it. Not even the games on his phone were good at being interesting.

He was a few minutes into the sea of bored nothingness when it occurred to him that he should probably check on Austria. It was such a pain to have to get out of bed, but the Austrian had been acting weirdly lately. He was a little less . . . put together, and more so than what recent times called the usual. Well, this wasn't exactly what he would call a usual few weeks, but he lacked a better word for it. On top of whatever else was going on, the date probably had something to do with that. All of this had incredibly terrible timing and that was enough to aggravate him. Couldn't this anniversary have waited until after all of this had been all sorted out?

It took him a few minutes, but he did haul himself out of bed eventually. He knew very well that he had left some clothes in the drawers the last time he had been here, but changing seemed like work which he didn't want to do. Instead, he exited his room and managed to trudge his way across the hallway to the door to Austria's room. There wasn't any trace of musical notes anywhere in the house or feathery scratchings of utensils against bowls downstairs, so the pianist must have still been asleep. He nearly had his hand to the handle when he stopped. Now that he thought about it, maybe it would be better to leave Austria to sleep. The oppressive, crushing guilt which came on days like these was enough of a challenge on its own, but to combine it with recent events seemed like it would be too much for him. Under most other circumstances, Prussia would have delighted in breaking down the door whilst yelling anything and everything which came to mind, just to be irritating, but he thought better of it, just for the day. The pianist would need all the sleep which he was going to get, and if he guessed correctly, all the sleep which was to be had wouldn't amount to much. He could tease his pianist later. With that in mind, he pulled back and turned back toward the remainder of the hall.

Maybe he would get some coffee later. Not right now, though, because he couldn't bring himself to muster up the effort to go downstairs right then. Normally, he would have had more of an urge for cheap alcohol, but he had warmed up to coffee after having a cup every day since he had gotten here. Now that he thought about it, he was probably starting to get hooked on the stuff. Not that he really cared. If he didn't mind how much he enjoyed alcohol, he certainly wouldn't mind this. Besides, he _was_ immortal, so it wasn't like he was going to have any actual health effects from anything like coffee or alcohol. More than anything else, he was just tired, but not enough to go back asleep. He hated being in that state of mind, when he wasn't tired enough to just go back to bed, but not awake enough to really want to do anything. Nothing felt quite right in such a state of mind.

Then again, Prussia supposed that nothing should feel quite right on the anniversary of the beginnings of genocide. So, regardless of whether he felt like it or not, he had nothing else to do, so he found himself wandering into the room at the end of the hall, which was appropriately devoid of its usual music. They deserved that. The house got quiet without those patterned notes, just like it had gotten quiet after people stopped screaming and let themselves go.

Prussia shook his head dismissively. He'd had years of thinking the same thoughts over and over; he wasn't going to keep mulling it over this year. The last thing he needed was two miserable immortals in one house. From experience, he could safely say that was never a good idea.

Out of curiosity, Prussia decided that he would peek into the room just up ahead. It wasn't often that it would be so devoid of most everything which it was used to - the delicately passionate chords, the man responsible for the emotion behind them, and the very atmosphere of the room which existed only because of its primary inhabitant. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen it that empty. It would be strange to see the place where so much was created as no more than a room with dead furniture now that it was rid of what gave it its real character.

What was even stranger was that Prussia couldn't bring himself to do little more than wish the silence away. Even though he had intentionally left Austria to sleep, he couldn't help but think that the younger sure was taking his time with getting up. There wasn't anything to do in the ancient house and he wanted to scare the Austrian as soon as he entered the room which housed his piano, preferrably by jumping out at him. That would be fun; it always was. So much so, actually, that he found himself sneering in amusement at the idea despite himself. If only he wouldn't have to wait a while for this plan to become a reality.

But, as it turned out, he wouldn't. Much to his surprise, the room was already inhabited by the time he peered in through the door frame. Straight in the center of the enormous ballroom, Austria was sat, as per usual, at the piano bench before his instrument of choice. What was not per usual was that, not only was no music being played, but no effort was being made whatsoever to play any music. Rather than plucking at the keys, or even touching them, Austria just sat there, his hands resting idly in his lap and his eyes fixed on the untouched keys. And, though he didn't move from that spot at all except to breath, he wasn't really there in the least. No, even from the far end of the room, Prussia could tell that the man before him was somewhere far away.

It felt almost eerie.

"What're you doing up?" Prussia asked in quizzical greeting, a teasing smile easily slipping onto his face and seeping into his every word. No response. He advanced a few clunky steps across the floor before him, making sure that the room echoed the sound of his footfall especially loudly. He knew the pianist had heard him, it was just a matter of getting him to see that he was supposed to reply sooner rather than later. And in those moments before he received the reply he waited on, he was greeted by little more than an evanescent flicker of the Austrian's eyes in his direction, but even with so little, he found eye contact with the other, if only for a fraction of a second. With that fraction of a second, he could see it. He could see the look in Austria's eyes - the one which was so specific to such anniversaries. The one which brought a corpse's eyes to a living face.

Suddenly, Prussia couldn't help but wish that he was still spending his days in the home of France or Spain. Regardless of how much they fought, he wished that the Austrian wouldn't look at him that way. After the end of the war, he had hoped that it would be over and they could all go back to normal, but they never had. Today, he only had to face the memory of the significant event which marked their descent into madness, but he could still remember the years when he never knew anything but. Those were some of the worst years that either of them could remember. He almost wanted to remind Austria that he didn't need to have his memory refreshed.

"I couldn't sleep." Austria explained emptily. He brought his hand up to brush his fingers across the sleek, polished ivory of the piano keys, staring lifelessly at the beloved instrument before him, but made no effort to play it. It was a disheartening sight, but the worst part about it was how much it reeked with familiarity.

"Are you just gonna sit there all day or are you gonna play something?" Prussia asked. He watched as the Austrian's lips for pressed into a straight line. After a moment of continual staring, the Austrian sighed soundlessly and his eyes flashed in Prussia's direction.

"You know there is nothing to be played today."

"You can play whenever you want. Have some fun!"

"I can't."

"Hey, come on, Priss; lighten up!"

"You know very well that nothing of the sort will make today any better."

For a moment, he tried, but Prussia realized soon that he knew very well that he couldn't come up with a retort to that. There really wasn't anything which they could do to change history, after all. He wasn't stupid; he knew the date. He knew well that it was the first day of Kristallnacht, and so, he gave a half-hearted shrug and said nothing more on the matter other than a few unintelligible mutters under his breath. By now, he had changed his mind - he definitely did want a drink. Nothing in particular, just something with alcohol.

"You want a drink?" Prussia offered. Normally, it would seem absurd for him to offer alcohol to someone as prudish as the pianist before him, but it was a difficult day which would precede another difficult day and he deserved to be offered a drink to help get him through the next few hours. And if it would get him away from having to look at such a shell of a person, whatever consequences which came would be more than worth it. "You've got some stuff downstairs and I'm gonna go get some."

Moments poured by like molasses - viscous and tedious like Prussia had come to expect them to be. Austria stared at him as he thought it over. You wouldn't know any sort of consideration was passing over his mind if you hadn't known him as well as Prussia did. His expression did not alter in the slightest. He looked weary and unenthused to the point where the Prussian was starting to feel bad for him. Had he gotten any real sleep last night? If he had, it didn't look like it. He looked the kind of tired which people looked after a night of lonely sobbing into the unhearing ears of their pillows and his eyes shifted from the other man's eyes to the far wall like rusting gears which were beginning to slow in their age.

"I suppose I'll take one, thank you." Austria agreed at last, prompting Prussia to nod and leave his seat on the piano bench.

Prussia really did hate this time of year. He hated having to remember the creeping guilt and he hated feeling it grow tenfold when images of his own actions crept into his mind. He hated the dead eyes and the hollowed voices which both Austria and Germany wore and he hated the glances the three of them got thrown by other nations - like they couldn't decide whether to despise or pity them more. He hated that Germany had only been a child when he was made to believe what he did enough to make the kind of decisions which would haunt him the rest of his life and he hated it when people made that his little brother's entire identity, like he could never be any better than his worst self. He hated that every minute of it became an extended round of the reverse blame game where everyone he cared about was desperate to assume complete responsibility because maybe it would feel validating to know that everyone else blamed them as much as they blamed themselves or maybe they wrongly hoped it would make them feel any better. Neither of those would work, and they all knew it. He hated that, no matter how much any of them tried to get around it, he knew that they all deserved what they were getting, even if it sometimes seemed extreme. And he hated that there wasn't anything which anyone could do for any of them. Every year, it was inevitable and it would not ever go away in spite of what they may have wanted, and he hated it for that.

The idea that Prussia could have possibly thought of going through the day without any alcohol now seemed ridiculous. There were four bottles of hard beer in the refrigerator, but he supposed that he could always go and get more. For now, he took three with him and a glass, since experience had taught him that Austria wasn't one to drink straight from the bottle. He had a feeling that he would be back to get more later, making the number of bottles less of a concern in his mind.

So, he made his way back up the stairs and down the brief hall and into the far room from which he had come. The chilled bottles of alcohol were set down on the top of the piano, which earned Prussia a dissatisfied stare from the Austrian, but nothing more. He grabbed one off of the lid, pried it open, and chugged as enormous of a mouthful as he could manage. He glanced down at the Austrian to look for some kind of reaction and spread every possible part of his body from the rib cage up ungracefully across the polished piano. Oddly enough, this earned him even less of a reaction.

"So, uh," Prussia searched for the words to complete the sentence with. He already had Austria's attention, so he had to say something, he just didn't know what. At the very least, he could take some small form of comfort in the realization that whatever he said couldn't be worse than the thick, viscous tension between them. "How're you?"

"I'm," Austria began after a short wait of little productivity. He took a sharp inhale, holding his breath for a good few seconds, and released so quietly that Prussia almost wasn't certain that he'd done it at all. "As well as I could hope to be, thank you."

"Come on, can't you ever give a straight answer to anything?"

"I believe I just did."

"No, you didn't! That's like getting a yes or no question and answering with _maybe_. That's cheating!"

"It's hardly cheating if you never outlined the rules."

"They're still the rules, so you can't ignore them like that."

"I wasn't ignoring; I didn't know."

"Okay, well, you do now, so, how're you?"

"I already answered this question."

"Not well," Prussia pouted.

To this, Austria rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. If Prussia had wanted him to revise his answer, he did nothing to satisfy this desire. Instead, he set his sights back on his mute piano keys.

"And how are you?"

"I'm awesome!" Prussia explained with appropriate gusto. He wasn't currently feeling awesome, but he knew that he was, so it wasn't exactly lying. He was remarkably great and a mood couldn't change that. "Duh!"

"Of course," Austria sighed. And Prussia genuinely couldn't tell whether the annoyance was founded upon the Austrian's general dislike of his egotistical antics or upon him knowing that Prussia was lying to a certain extent. "And how is your Bruder?"

"Almost as awesome as I am! Are you gonna give me a real answer now?"

"Well, what would you like me to say?" Austria snapped. His eyes shot up violently and swarmed with a broken temper. "'I'm doing wonderfully, thank you. I love reminiscing on the many ways which I murdered my own innocent children'?"

At that, the atmosphere in the room chilled to another degree, the brutal honesty of what had been said at last freezing the air and the words it carried. There wasn't any way you could really retort that. One could only refuse the truth to a certain extent, and everyone had a point where they realized it was time to come to their senses and accept reality, however long it took. And, for Prussia, those sharp words were what it took for his to come, and he relented with a grumble from the back of his throat and a thrown glance toward nothing in particular.

"Now look at what you've made me do," Austria chastised under his breath. He was most certainly still irate, but more in a manner that was ingrained into his personality and tired and less in one which spoke of a man driven to being passionately livid like what he had seen less than a minute ago.

A tired sigh and the clinking of a glass bottle cracked the tension of the barely broken silence. Austria had taken one of the remaining bottles of alcohol from the piano as well as the transparent glass beside it. He grimaced as he sloshed the tinted liquid around in the bottle, but it apparently wasn't enough to repulse him so he handed it over to Prussia and requested that he open it for him sotto voce.

"You never change, huh?" Prussia snorted. Even so, he took the bottle and cranked the cap off, then returned the bottle. Just to save time, he did the same to the last remaining bottle, though he was sure he wouldn't care in a few minutes when he moved onto it.

The Austrian took it back daintily with a hushed few words of thanks. The bottle's contents cascaded into the glass, dyeing it a foaming amber and drenching it in the unmistakeable reek of hard beer which he so openly detested. Again, he grimaced, and this time looked about the room for an excuse not to drink it, but found none, so he took a deep breath like he was about to perform an incredibly idiotic dare which he knew better than to do on instinct alone and took a delicate sip.

It was painfully clear from the moment he let that liquid fall into his mouth that he despised it. He flinched and grimaced and gagged like there was nothing he had ever tried in his life which was so completely awful as that drink was. And yet, he kept drinking it. Maybe he got used to the taste, maybe he just needed to be taken away from a world where he could fully comprehend what he'd done, but he finished the glass, refilled it, and finished that one, too.

Prussia wasn't keeping track of how much Austria was drinking, but it was more than he could recall seeing him drink in an extensive period of time. And before, during, and after each drink, they were both silent.

"It was today, was it not?" Austria mused out of what seemed like nowhere. There was something all too familiar in his lost eyes; something Prussia had always been able to recognize, but never able to describe succinctly nor sufficiently. Something which made them look haunted. Something which made them look like he had long since given up on running from a foe which he always knew would catch him. It would have been eerie if he weren't able to fully relate to it, but the years which had passed had transformed it from being chillingly otherwordly to being all too real. Now, he could feel his desire for alcohol returning to him more by the instant. "The anniversary of the beginning of our crimes?"

"Yeah," Prussia agreed after a stretch of silence, this time his voice taking on a more serious undertone which fit the mood of the day more appropriately. "We were young and stupid."

"Stupidity hardly justifies murder."

"No, it doesn't."

Austria grew quiet after that, and Prussia followed suit unquestioningly.

"They didn't deserve this." Austria continued with an unusual disregard for the words which were coming out of his mouth. He wasn't usually so free with any verbal language. Hearing this from him was weird. Already, he was clearly beginning to become put off by the presence of alcohol in his system. Normally, Prussia would have found it absolutely hilarious that the Austrian was such a lightweight, but seriousness weighed down on the atmosphere without remorse and crushed any source of humor that had existed.

"No," Prussia agreed simply. Despite how quickly it got to Austria's mind, he couldn't feel the alcohol yet, so he took it upon himself to take another sip. Until he could feel it, whatever amount he was drinking wasn't enough. If their supply ran dry before that happened, he could always resort to drowning himself in coffee. That would be helpful as well. It wouldn't make him forget everything for the day in the way that alcohol could, but it could help to clear the dull haziness which had clouded his mind since he woke up, which was till something. "Francis kind of did, though."

"Gilbert!"

"Relax! I was kidding!"

"This is not a matter to joke about. You know well what we did; you worked in the camps alongside all the people we worked to fool."

"Yeah, I know. I dropped the pellets sometimes."

"And I knew that you did." By now, there was a hint of a slur in Austria's voice. It was on the verge of not existing at all, but was still on the cusp of being considered a real slur. That was almost impressive, considering how little alcohol he had truthfully consumed. It was weird. It made the Austrian sound more emotional than Prussia was accustomed to hearing him be. Maybe this kind of self expression would be good for him, though, seeing as he scarecely ever opened himself up to anyone or anything other than his instrument of choice. "I never even had the strength to see it for myself, but I knew what we were doing. And I stayed behind and approved every word of every plan even so. I never even saw the people I was slaughtering until after it was done and Alfred took us all through those wretched places. You- you remember that day, don't you?"

Prussia would be damned if he didn't remember that day. How could on Earth could he ever do anything but? Nothing would would ever remove the sight of those harrowing corpses from his mind and nothing would ever erase the impact which the impounding knowledge that all of that was largely his fault had on him. Frankly, he didn't want anything to. Those were the kinds of things which he had to remember. It ate away at his conscience little by little every year, but it was a necessary evil. Besides, as long as he still held enough sanity to last him the rest of his being, that was enough. He could manage on anniversaries of such things better than Austria or Germany were generally able to. Then again, it was Austria who really sobbed that day. That was the first time Prussia could ever remember seeing him cry. Heaven knew how long he could go on about that day.

"I think you're drunk, Roddy." Were the words which Prussia decided on instead. He didn't want to talk about that anymore.

"I don't think I care."

"You should. You've only had, like, one glass of beer and you're already plastered - that makes you the biggest lightweight I've ever met."

"No, i-it was definitely three and a half. I think."

"Are you okay?"

"You just don't have any good taste."

"Is this why you never drink around anyone? You get drunk after one glass? Because, if that's it, that's absolutely hilarious and you should do it way more often."

"First of all, I'm not drunk. Second of all, I know it was definitely at least three glasses because you need to hand me that bottle over there."

"You should go back to bed."

"That's ridiculous, Gilbert, I just got up."

"So? It doesn't matter what time it is. I go back to bed all the time!"

This advice of Prussia's was defiantly ignored as Austria proceeded to reach for the bottle himself and refill his glass anyway, promptly ignoring the skeptical look his elder was sending him.

"Maybe going back to bed all the time is why you're not a nation anymore."

"Yeah, okay, you're really drunk." Prussia reaffirmed. This time, however, he took the drink from Austria's hand and moved it to a corner of the table which was just far enough away that the pianist would not be able to reach it. Much to Prussia's great amusement, Austria made something of a whine at that, like a dog who still wanted more time outside to play.

"You're lucky I don't do worse for that," He huffed, glaring at Austria - who was still pouting about the loss of his drink but looked way too proud of himself for Prussia's liking. "For the record, I'm not a nation anymore because you guys are all a bunch of losers and I'm way too awesome to be put in the same group as the rest of you sucky Trantüten."

"There's no need to lie, Gilbert."

"You suck even more than last time I came!"

"I didn't invite you here."

"So what?"

"So, you can leave if I bother you so much."

"I don't want to drive all the way back!"

"Of course not. I would be careful with a car if I had to be placed on a fifteen-year waiting list for it, too."

"Okay, you know what? I've just decided that you're too drunk to stay out here and lust after your piano."

"I don't want to go back to bed."

"Too bad, you don't get to make that choice."

Before Austria could fully realize what was going on in his pathetically drunken state, Prussia was up from leaning against the piano, his drink temporarily forgotten, and standing fully erect beside the piano bench. It must have at least dully sounded in his mind what was on the brink of occurring for an instant before it did, but instances are often not the best time frames to organize a massive protest, so there was little anyone could do before Austria was promptly scooped off of the bench and into the arms of the just barely taller man, one arm curled around his lower back and the other nestled under his legs.

At this point, Austria caught up with himself and spared no time in making up all the time which he had gone without protest. This, unfortunately, did little to help his cause, as Prussia only burst into fits of laughter and retorted with unbearable teasing until Austria decided he was too drunk to deal with this and gave up the fight.

In response to the surrender, Prussia huffed poutily under his breath. That made the whole teasing far less enjoyable. He thought he might get a little more fun by moving across the room a little, but he really only got a slur of words which all mashed together beyond comprehension, besides Prussia's human name. It was disappointing enough that he for a second considered just placing Austria back down, but he decided against it because he was already up.

Halfway to the door leading to the first bedroom from the nearly empty ballroom, Prussia realized Austria had given up on maintaining acceptable posture and relaxed into the hold in a manner which was so unnatural for him that Prussia couldn't help but snort. They hadn't even gone far. After all, the corridor really did seem so much less of a great expanse when one only took oneself to the very first available door. In actuality, the only aspect of the trip which made it lengthy was the absence of hilariously flustered, indignant squealing from the man in his arms, but that was at least partially made up for by faint drunken moans at nothing in particular. Aside from those, however, the silence was only marred by the creaking of rickety wood underneath hefty boots and costly woven thread.

He shoved the surprisingly sturdy door open with his shoulder once he arrived at it. With that out of the way, he shuffled into the room before him and kicked the door shut behind him. Just for the fun of it, he took a moment to appreciate the very fact that he was inside this room, which he maybe got to go into once every decade. If anything was to be certain from a swift look around, it was that Austria would definitely be able to sleep in there, as it was impossibly dark for the time of day.

This entire house had to been the modern housing market's worst nightmare. It hadn't been renovated in decades - and even then, it was only because of absolute necessity - and it was so far from modern that it very well could have been as old as its owner itself. That, and there was so much natural lighting in every room in the house, yet every room which was still in use had curtains which were never drawn, suffocating the windows, except on rare occasion and his bedroom could fool anyone into believing the clock had just struck midnight, no matter the actual time of day. Even so, the outmoded building was probably worth more than it had cost to rebuild Berlin after the war.

' _Weird old man . . .'_ Prussia groaned internally.

"Gilbert?" Austria slurred, drawing his captor's attention back to him and his glassy eyes. Glassy eyes didn't suit him well. It looked natural on someone else, like England, but it made Austria look like a shot soldier on the ground - the kind who could feel every hope for their very lives drained from their body as they could look up to see the light from the next life above them. The kind who stared romantically at a comforting majesty only they could see and too much of them was gone from the mortal world for their mind to register that they were ready to go.

"Yeah, Rod?" Prussia asked. Austria's eyes were a little mesmerizing, but at the same time, he wished they would stop looking like that. Of course, neither of them was actually going to die anytime soon, if at all, but as a soldier, he'd seen looks like that more than enough to last a lifetime, and it was eerie seeing anything like that on Austria's face, of all people. After all these years, all the fighting, he found that he didn't want to think about the possibility of it all being over. It was surprising to hear the words echoing in his mind, but there they were, and he couldn't think of a way to prove that they weren't true.

' _I don't want him to go.'_

' _I can live in a situation where he's not there, but I don't want to live in a_ world _where he's_ not there _.'_

' _I said I did once because I thought people would think I was cool, but I don't want to see Roderich die.'_

"Do you- do you think, that I'm a bad person?"

Prussia blinked. He hesitated. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. He went back to remember if he'd heard that right. He tilted his head to the side.

"What?" He asked. His frustrated mind couldn't register much other than confusion and those dying eyes. Gosh, he was so confused; maybe he was more of a lightweight than he thought. What was that supposed to mean? Neither of them asked questions like that, not to each other, so was there something else to it or was it just the alcohol?

"A bad person," Austria repeated. He must have been really drunk. And the expression he normally pulled when having to repeat himself frustrated him just made him look even more incoherently intoxicated. "I used to think about it a lot. I used to think about how you tell whether a person is good or not."

"And?"

"And I realized that it was stupid to think about how you tell when God gave us a checklist."

"You mean the Ten Commandments?"  
"Mhm. An-And I've done everything wrong which I possibly could. Because- it's because, you see, I wasn't supposed to have any other Gods before Him, but I let a man who thought he was not only better than God but God Himself, to rule me.

"I wasn't supposed to take the Lord's name in vain, but I used His name to justify murder because I was so vain, and I was supposed to keep the Sabbath day holy, but I never stopped for any day of the week.

"And I was supposed to honor father and mother and I wasn't supposed to kill, but I killed both father and mother, and then their children after them, and I wasn't supposed to commit adultery or lust after my neighbor's life, but I celebrated multiple marriages still under the binding of mine and Antonio's and I never honored any of them as anything more than a business agreement I didn't have a choice in.

"I stole, I bore false witness against my neighbor, I coveted against his house, farm, cattle, and everything that was _theirs_. I disobeyed every commandment He gave me and I still ruined His name by claiming I fought for it. So, that means that I am a bad person. That's what the Bible said. And I wanted to know if you think so, too."

Prussia didn't say anything for a bit. He didn't think he could. How could anyone?

' _Is this how he really feels?'_ He thought, his mind ever willing to explore the questions he didn't want to ask and he didn't want answers to. It only made sense that Austria's would, too. ' _This is what he kept bottled up when he never wanted to tell me how he was actually feeling, all these years? Doesn't it . . ._

' _Doesn't it hurt?'_

"Do you- do _you_ think you're a bad person?"

"Mm," Austria hummed undecidedly. He considered it. He shouldn't be considering it. "Ja, ich tue."

It was quiet after that. It wasn't that nothing happened, but nothing was said. Prussia frowned, and his fingers curled tighter around the body in his arms.

"Nein," He answered at last in a voice without a single crack in confidence. "I don't."

Austria hummed out something, nothing composed of words but first sounding of surprised and then of doubt. He didn't believe the answer he'd gotten. It was then that Prussia realized that it didn't matter what he had chosen to say, because Austria had already gone over every possible point by himself and made up his mind so assuredly that his mind couldn't ever be changed. He knew that he couldn't change Austria's mind on the matter. He _knew_ that.

Wanting to be able to wouldn't make it so.

His mouth pressed into a thin line and he didn't say anything because there was nothing left to say. Instead, he only crossed those few steps to the bed and appreciated without voicing his gratitude that Austria was practically asleep by the time Prussia laid him down on the bed. He covered up the inebriated man from the natural darkness of his home, making him inclined to leave after that, but he found himself stopped again by those peering eyes. They stared straight into him and he stared back until he couldn't take staring anymore.

"Go to sleep," Prussia ordered. Austria, so uncharacteristically of him, complied, and let his eyes fall shut to give away what he could of his consciousness to the tired pull of vague drunkenness. But he was still just a little bit awake, so Prussia leaned in closer than he normally would dare and gave away the rest of the younger man's consciousness with the sensation of his own lips pressed against Austria's forehead. And when he pulled back just enough to check, the musician was as good as gone, given away to the healing realm of sleep's tender embrace.

"Du bist eine sehr gute Person." He whispered to an unhearing audience. Chances were that Austria wouldn't remember any of this when he woke up, but Prussia hoped that he would know the truth of those words somehow. Somehow, he wanted this delicate, fragile, precious nation to be protected from himself. But now was not the time for that. It was only time to while away hours and wish the day to end.

With nothing left to do, Prussian pulled off all the way, just a little reluctantly. However, nearly all of his reluctance was washed away by relief once he was stood up straight back on two proud feet and could clearly glance down at the figure of a man who was sleeping, therefore, would almost certainly not remember a haste goodnight - er, good morning, really - kiss from the man he had spent centuries clashing with in war. He _really_ didn't need that kind of blackmail against him being owned by Austria, of all people. That was an incredibly stupid and embarrassing thing to do, and he hoped that Austria would have forgotten it by the time he woke. For that matter, he hoped _he_ would forget it by the time Austria woke.

Just before he was ready to leave the room, he carefully rolled Austria on his side. With that done, there was nothing to worry about and he fled eagerly from the room, cautiously guiding the door into its frame behind him. And that was it.

He was more than a little aware that he needed a drink and needed one _immediately_. It didn't matter that Austria had already started it because he was finishing that third bottle.

As it turned out, he was also finishing the fourth bottle he has left downstairs and he was driving to the store to restock and finishing those, too. Unlike his sheltered peer, he had developed a useful tolerance over the years, and never was it more useful than on days such as these.

At the same time, however, he almost wished that he had no tolerance for it whatsoever. It would be kind of lovely to take a shot and be plastered just like that. One little shot and everything around you could disappear, just like that. It would be quite blissful, actually. Cowardly, but blissful.

A rippling vibration from his pocket caught his attention. Prussia was too drunk to be startled out of his thoughts, but too sober to be unable to comprehend what it was that had just happened. By the time he had pulled his phone out of his pocket, the screen was still actively lit by the new notification, which read that he had received a text message from his younger brother. That was odd. Germany usually didn't feel up to texting anyone on days such as these. Perhaps something had happened. That incentive gave him reason enough to log into his phone and open up the app to reply to whatever message it was that he had just recently received.

" _How are you and Roderich?"_ The message read. Either Germany was feeling really well or really poor if he was sending that.

Usually, the whole atmosphere of the day was so taxing that he couldn't bring himself to engage in any form of communication, therefore, it must have been one of those years where he was at one end of an extreme - either he was feeling capable enough to take active interest in Prussia and Austria's wellbeing and look after them or he was feeling so terrible that he reached out to ask how they were in hopes that they would repeat the question and come to look after him. In spite of the rest of the world's irreplaceable opinions of him, even he dropped to such states of vulnerability as to helplessly seek comfort in those who he trusted. And who could he trust more than the people he had known better and for longer than anyone else, and who he knew could really understand exactly what he meant?

Well, it was either one of those two things or today he felt that he had a reason for concern, which, considering the last time Prussia had spoken with him, wouldn't have been all that surprising.

He wished they had never made so many dates which got so many nations so upset and guilt-wracked. It really had been stupid of them.

" _I'm awesome, as usual. Roddy's drunk and out cold."_ Came Prussia's response.

" _You gave him alcohol?"_

" _Hey, I didn't think he would be such a lightweight."_

" _You knew that very well."_

" _No, I didn't! What are you trying to say?"_

" _I'm saying that maybe I should come over today. I think we could all use the company."_

" _See? I knew you could get all that work done!"_

" _I didn't get it all done - just enough that my boss will allow me to leave. I'll have to work a little more today before I can leave and then work late after I arrive, but I feel that my boss will understand the circumstances."_

" _Of course she will! She clearly knows how fantastic I am!"_

" _Ja, I'll be over late tonight. It most likely won't be until around midnight."_

" _Can you bring beer with you? Roddy's running out and being sober sucks right now."_

" _Ja, I can bring a case or two with me."_

" _Okay, awesome! Bis später!"_

" _Auf Wiedersehen."_

For what was perhaps the first time all day, Prussia let a genuine smile paint its way across his face. Sure, war anniversaries were always awful, but it was even worse when all he had to do was wait around by himself - especially when that was because his only company was sleeping off intoxication - was the worst time he could imagine, possibly excluding waiting around with awake and intoxicated company who shared his guilt. He wouldn't arrive for quite some time, but Germany was coming, and he wasn't as unnecessarily complicated as the Austrian was. At the very least, Prussia could usually tell what he was thinking. Austria was another case altogether. He had once thought he knew what was going on in the pianist's head, but now that he was coming to know better, the truth made his past assumptions look like pitiful caricatures. It was frustrating having everything warped into distortion so suddenly in a way that he couldn't understand.

But Germany- Germany, he could understand. And Prussia knew now that his little brother would be here before the end of the two-day anniversary. His younger brother would be more sensical about all of this and maybe - just maybe - he could even start to figure Austria out. And perchance, the three of them could finally be alright again.

And they were alright. They were, for several hours, too. Just not as Austria managed to slip out of his bedroom, entirely undetected.

 **Translations:**

 **Bruder - Brother**

 **Trantüten -** **Slowcoaches; literally, bags of whale blubber.**

 **Ja, ich tue. - Yes, I do.**

 **Nein - No**

 **Du bist eine sehr gute Person. - You are a very good person.**

 **Bis später - See you later**

 **Auf Wiedersehen - Standard German way of saying goodbye; literally, until I see you again**

 **A/N:**

 **I hope that you enjoyed what I had to write today! Surprisingly enough, there are a number of parts in this chapter which I actually quite like, so I hope that if I like (most of) it, you did, too! My sister dragged me down into the head canon that Austria's a massive lightweight because he doesn't drink much due to religious beliefs. In reality, studies have shown that Austrians often have higher alcohol tolerance than Germans, but this is a head canon, after all, so it won't necessarily be 100% accurate. Anyway, with that being said, have a lovely, lovely day, take the time to take care of yourselves, seek help if you need it, and pay tribute to those who had their lives stolen from them by the monster which was the Second World War.**

 **~ Aleberle**


	10. Chapter 9

**Alright, there's not too much I want to say about this one except that it's super long (at least by comparison to my last few) and it's almost the sole reason why I changed this story's rating. Yeah, it gets pretty depressing pretty quick. If you guys have got any depressing soundtracks which you want to listen to during this one, be my welcome guest. Aside from that, translations are at the bottom, and I hope you (sort of) enjoy!**

 **It's all downhill from here. :))))))**

It was with a rather paranoid mind that Austria came to the realization that everything was _not_ alright. His reign was over. The idea that he has redeemed himself in the slightest was laughable. The power, the control, the glorious sense of having conquered something he could never have dreamed of - it was all gone. It wasn't enough now. How long had it been since he had stopped taking his medication? Had it been three days? Maybe it was five, or seven. Maybe it was, as it felt and it truly had been half of an eternity. The first day was fine, a little downcast and presented with the typical problems that one might expect, but fine. The second was challenging, at best, and at worst, an exhausting bout of insomnia and misery. After that, it was all just a blur of thoughts and urges of all the worst sort. Nothing had succeeding in thwarting them - his music, the company, none of it. He couldn't bear it that long. He wasn't in control now. He wasn't in power now. His say didn't matter anymore. His accomplishments had been undone and didn't mean anything now, crushed underneath the weight of sin which pressed down on him so heavily that he couldn't possibly begin to understand how anyone had ever expected him to be able to bear it. Yet, he needed these things, the things which he could never have. He needed what he lacked - he needed control, he needed redemption, he needed forgiveness.

He needed a knife.

It had been weeks, but he knew exactly where it was. Hidden amongst the rest of the silverware, it served to appear innocent enough, no less than any other baking appliance and with no more sinister a purpose. It did its job well. No one was ever made aware of the situation and no one ever would. They had no reason to. Prussia may have thought that he had reached an understanding of it, but he was wrong. It wasn't a necessarily vile practice, but he was at least intelligent enough to know that it was one that was forever doomed to be misunderstood.

They saw it as harmful and evil, and there was no denying that that was exactly what it was. But that was exactly why he needed it. As far as Austria was concerned, this repulsed them because they didn't understand. No one who made these claims had ever understood the promise of the otherwise impossible reward that partaking in the muted sins of the knife offered, because they had never done so. They didn't understand it in itself, and they didn't understand how horribly plagued he was with himself. They could never fully comprehend the weight of living for so long in the knowledge of past transgressions. It was because of those that he now worked long hours that turned to days, which turned to months, which turned into years of serving his people - _all_ of his people, this time - and keeping peace with his neighbors. He did that well enough. All he wanted was this - something to redeem himself with - and surely, no one had any right to voice any criticism directed toward him for it. Of course they were were entitled to their criticism, but it was his job to enforce his sentence and that was exactly what he was doing. Yes, the length he was going to _was_ horrible, but it was horrible because he deserved it. What point would there be in going through with such an act if it didn't have the same villainous nature which each of his war crimes had? The opinions of those who opposed such action did not matter, though, as there was no one who might visit for miles to judge him, and those who would dedicate the effort to caring did not have to know. They had never found out before - not about any of it - and they did not have to on that day. And if they should know, so be it. Besides, hadn't he the right to offer himself justice for the crimes which he had committed?

That was how he ended up there - leaned over an open kitchen drawer, sleeves already pulled back to his elbows, searching desperately through its contents for a knife. He knew there was one there. There was more than one - there were oh, so many. In fact, there were so many that the drawer housed hardly anything else. But, only one of them was right. Only one was perfect. Only one had a blade so cold-blooded that it could carry out the task at hand without any hint of error. Besides, he could not simply pick _any_ knife, he had to know which exact blade was used each and every time - he simply couldn't slice a portion of a cake to offer to a guest while wondering if he had dowsed the very same utensil with his own blood the night before. He had kept that very knife all those years.

And he did not find the one without fail, just as he expected he would not. It came as a fright, but not as a surprise, that this particular blade was missing from its usual place. He suspected Prussia had done something to it. No matter, Austria did have an entire drawer full, after all. However, he did find a replacement which was nearly identical. It was not too large, and it was not too small, but just the perfect size for control of his pace and severity, as well as a handle which nestled itself into the palm of his hand as though it belonged there, and, as far as he was concerned, it did. The blade carried an air of precision about it, its edge gleaming almost romantically in the dim candlelight, and fit well into the refined, coal-colored wood of the handle. There was no doubt that it would do him well. Yes, he would remember this one.

He took it into his hand, briefly relishing its perfect fit, and strolled across the hardwood floors with his pride intact. Every echo of his boots on the wood was a reminder. A chilling, yet welcome reminder that the time for redemption was almost upon him. It was getting closer, he was almost there. It truly wouldn't be long now. He could do it; he could fix himself.

It continued as he hiked up the stairs, one hand dancing across the railing, the other clutching the chosen knife in anticipation, and followed him down the hall, down the long, bleak hall. And it arrived with him at the door, the same aging door that he had found himself drawn to the previous time. He wasn't entirely sure what compelled him to that room in particular. Maybe it was tradition, maybe he simply didn't want to clean the anticipated mess from the more expensive wood that worked as the flooring of the rest of the house. Either way, he came to it just the same, as he did now. Either way, he found himself pushing the door open with his free hand and slipping inside. And, either way, he slid to the tiled floor, pressing his back up against the wall, and inhaled sharply, as he did before, though now he knew preparation.

Perhaps one would have expected him to pause now, just to contemplate. To have an epiphany and realize all the great and profound reasons he had to live and think to himself ' _What am I doing?'_ However, this did not happen. It used to happen, in the earlier days of this experience. He used to search his own mind desperately for something to bring him back before he made the irreversible decision. He used to stare at the blade and wonder what on Earth he was doing, and if any of it was really worth it. He used to think every second of anticipation beforehand was an eternity in itself because he still held some reluctance that disappeared once he reached the best parts. He used to get so scared.

And, of course, the idea was still frightening, but not in the same way. He could still feel the inevitable terror creeping through him, but he had since resigned himself to the process as a ghastly chore which still must be done. He could still feel the whining in the back of his mind that he didn't want to be doing this, but now he knew better. Now, he knew that this wasn't a matter of merely wanting, he needed to do this. It was simply his only option. Instead, he found himself in the latter stages of addiction, having only desperation for the blade to reach his skin. Every second of anticipation was now an eternity only because each was keeping him from what he needed.

Yes, he needed it. It was strange - he didn't want it, but he deserved it. What morbidly ridiculous state of mind had he ever been in that he thought some lowly medication could ever erase what he had done? He didn't deserve comfort. He deserved to feel every single overwhelming ounce of unimaginable pain which the world had to offer. For his people. The ones whom he had hurt. This was for them, not for him. This was his real medicine. It didn't come with a prescription, as these kinds often did not. It was the kind of medication which would hurt for the sake of the greater good, the kind which had been prescribed only by court judges in past years. But there was no judge to take that responsibility, so he would have to do it himself. For the greater good.

And so, the sharpened blade met his pale skin, not dipping too far, but just enough to give him that first taste. Pain rushed into his mind. It hurt. He flinched with the small dose of agony, but he had to remember why he was doing it. He had to remember how much punishment he deserved but was never made to endure. A shudder coursed through his spine, pulling his eyes closed, and when they opened again they fell upon the blade lodged in his skin and he realized that he was quivering. The quick bite of metal was drawn out so much longer than he wished it was and a wave of recognition of what he had really always known crashed down upon him.

He was terrified. It had always terrified him - what he had done, what he had to do, what he was doing now. His hands were shaking so much now that he had to remember the purpose to see if that could calm him enough to steady himself, but all that did was bring a damp pain to his eyes and cause his hands to shake more with the strain of controlling _everything_.

He lifted the blade from the skin, watching with something like regret as droplets of blood began arising at the surface of the incision and fell, pushed by new and arriving droplets, over the edge of his wrist. The chilled air rushed into the wound and ravaged it without mercy, sending shivers down his spine. He took a moment, just to stabilize himself. He swallowed, _hard,_ blinking profusely until there was no upcoming threat of having to spill too much over the edges. And by the time that wasn't an issue, his hand was steady.

That meant he could start up again. So he brought the blade down again, just next to the first mark, because he had to. It, too, was painful. But that seemed to be what he was looking for, even if it never stopped aching. It wasn't supposed to be about him, but it brought him a sense of relief to have that sense of release which finally expressing everything brought him.

As did the third, the fourth, the fifth, and every single mark that was made until there were eighteen. And each one of them filled him with an emotion he couldn't recognize, but it brought back the struggle to keep tears from his eyes. He doubted many others would understand, but there was nothing more necessary in his world than continuing. It was terrible, no one needed to tell him that. He _knew_ that. No normal person should ever be doing anything like it. But he wasn't normal. As an immortal being, he had never been really normal by human standards, but he'd strayed so far from any conception of normality in the last century that it hurt. Looking in the mirror, there was no regular person staring back at him, but a monster of a man who done so much wrong. Was it really wrong for the worst of men to commit a crime against himself?

But maybe it was alright now. Maybe he would be allowed to be okay after this one. He knew it was a futile wish, it was just comforting, if only for an instant, to think that there was hope for him. But he knew better than that. Hope wasn't an option. If it was, it wouldn't have let itself be slaughtered by reality. He didn't have to feel the burning of trying to hope anymore. This hurt was all deserved, but he would pay the toll for his sins until the impossible day when he could see the light out of this tunnel of unpayable debt. Thus, he decided it was worthy of his effort and brought it to life. With a somewhat energized intake of air, he brought the dripping blade back down into the first wound and began digging.

It was a new and strange kind of horror.

There was no better word for it, really. Every part of either his mind or his heart screamed at him to keep going, but whichever vital organ wasn't controlling the opposite opinion whimpered that he didn't want that. That it hurt. That he was tired and he wanted to go to bed. But the first part of his conscience was just so impossibly invincible that he knew he would give into it eventually, because when he didn't it hurt worse than when he did. It was like mind control - he knew it was wrong, but it just felt so much like something which he _should_ do that he couldn't bring himself to cease his activity. No, it was like water torture - this was just the overflowing bucket spilling over at the edges. It was for the best that he got rid of the water which had already built up.

And yet, the exhaustion which always pulled at him was getting so much stronger now, urging his eyes to close and his mind to let himself give in to the gradual sense of weariness that sang to him, slowly and deeply. He wanted to stop now. He'd wanted to stop a long time ago. But something in the more aggressive portion of his mind barked that he shouldn't stop, and what's more, he couldn't. And, so, he began to dig the knife deeper.

"What the hell?" A voice which was not Austria's own interrupted, sickened shock beyond clear in its tone.

The voice cut through the air was greater sharpness than any piercing of the stinging metal, though this left him in a state of panic, frigid, and without relief provided by his work of art. Austria spun toward the owner of the voice, which was not exactly an admirable decision, as it turned out, as what must have been liters of blood rushed to his head. Unsurprisingly, the world before him began spinning horribly, the intoxicating realm he had began to see now gone, and the one he was violently returned to seeming to thrust him from sea to sea in its rage. Some vague image was made out of the person in front of him, someone familiar, but was ineligible due to the untrustworthiness of his vision. This was not at all helped as the momentary, yet suspiciously vicious, spinning made his legs undeserving of his trust and quickly tore them out from underneath him.

He didn't immediately hit the floor. In fact, he never reached it at all. Initially, he collapsed against the wall behind him in the final burst of struggle he could muster, the blade sliding from its position to a new one as he lost his grip on it - the dark liquid on the tiles below, leaving but, inevitably, he fell from that without more than a couple seconds to count on. But he found himself not in a degrading position in a growing pool of his own blood, but in the arms of and pulled nearly onto the lap of another, who was not identified for a sum of seconds.

With a less than dignified shake of his head, the infinite fog that confused not just his hearing but all his senses began to fade, revealing a sight that almost made him want to return to the fog, or at the very least, escape the building at any and all costs - a very horrified and concerned Prussian. Prussia, still holding tight to Austria, wasted no time once he recognized the clarity, as well as mortification and humiliation which came with that, in the other's eyes. He took a hand previously located on the Austrian's back and wrapped it, with some caution, around the younger man's wrist, which he then positioned barely a foot from his face and at an angle so that he could clearly see every wound that worked to coat the limb.

Austria's face burned with the heat of ten thousand suns. He bit the inside of his cheek anxiously as he attempted to read the face of the man who now knew his greatest kept secret as the Prussian pulled the knife out from where it was lodged in his skin. Prussia closely inspected the blood on the knife - though his face gave away that he hated looking at it at all - in what was almost certainly a quest to make sure that no veins had been broken. Austria knew none had been, so he wasn't surprised when Prussia appeared not to have found any evidence of such a thing happening. Only when the Prussian breathed a sigh of relief upon the discovery was Austria taken aback, and he found himself unable to do anything more than stare as Prussia threw the bloodied weapon across the room in disgust and muttered something along the lines of 'Get that _crap_ out of here.'

' _Idiot, why didn't you lock the door?'_ Austria internally berated himself. ' _You didn't even close it, dummkopf, and now_ Gilbert _knows what you've been doing. You know he can't keep a secret; just wait until Ludwig finds out and marches over here to make a big fuss about it.'_ Silently, he cursed himself, his face continuing to build heat in his humiliation.

"Gilbert, I-"

"What the hell did you do?" Prussia muttered in a voice so heavily laden with emotion that not even its speaker could decipher which one was dominant with complete certainty, staring in some state of pained shock at the damage. His eyes flickered from scar to scar, both the new and the old, inspecting each one in great detail with eyes that could not seem to decide whether to hold worry, concern, anger, confusion, or plain shock in them, along with the ever present horror that shone in them. "Roderich, oh my— crap . . ."

Austria couldn't bring himself to answer. It was no longer a matter of what he wanted to do, no. He wanted to yank his wrist back, declare that it was not Prussia's business, as it wasn't, and be left alone to compose this glorious work of redemption which Prussia, of all people, should understand, but he couldn't. He could argue that it was his common sense preventing him from doing so, as there was but a microscopic chance that he could escape from the well-trained Prussian's grip, if that much, and that was part of it, but he knew better than to lay blame on it entirely. Mostly, it was the sense of overwhelming shame that fell over him for some unidentifiable reason. He supposed that he was not accustomed to being caught in a lie which someone else seemed severely upset by. It was a new and terrible experience, this shame of dishonesty. With it, he found himself unable to little more than cast his gaze at the floor and dig his teeth further into the flesh of his mouth, and because of that, he sat silently for the torturous few seconds that followed.

Once they passed, the Prussian cautiously relieved his hold on Austria without another word, save for one limb. He stood, like he wanted to move, but his hand lingered pleadingly around the pale and bloodied wrist for several more tedious seconds, which passed to the musician like water torture. His release of the wrist happened gradually, if only with the incentive of caring for the thing.

He rooted around the bathroom until he found a fluffy gray cloth and the first aid kit, which was always kept in the room for lack of a better place to put it, but the search felt as though it had ulterior motives, as Austria, even from his place on the floor, could have sworn that he paused and tensed every time he stumbled across any object that was even remotely sharp. However, the search still signified its end with the faucet miserably screaming with rushing water, which the Prussian thrust the cloth under and ended once said cloth was thoroughly damp. Once it was, Prussia took hold of it and the small box and sank back down to the floor beside Austria, who was pulled back into the short circle of distance between himself and the Prussian. Not hesitating for any purpose, he took the limp and throbbing limb back from its owner, managing, somehow, to be both firm and gentle in doing so, and covered the open wounds with the soaked cloth. He pressed the object down with what seemed to be the only amount of pressure he could apply without hurting the younger excessively in the process of ceasing the blood flow.

If you were to ask Austria, he thought stopping the bleeding took far too long, as it left him ashamed and silent with his former rival who began rooting through the first aid kit without releasing the limb, yet also far too short. No, he was not attempting to be romantic in that, nor did he mean that he enjoyed the experience, certainly not, though the icy water stung as it reached his ruined skin, and he almost took pleasure in how well it was deserved. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable by every meaning of the words. But that was part of why he found part of his mind wishing it was a longer experience. Once it was over, he would be that much closer to having to face Prussia and - perish the thought - even have to have a whole conversation about all of this, and the thought of doing that was beyond frightening in itself. And as much as he would never admit this to anyone, in spite of the circumstances, he supposed he had almost hoped it would last longer. He deserved it. He knew that just as well as his own people had once truly known it.

Despite his opinions on the matter, the blood flow had come to a halt, leaving the wounds to be carefully dried with a smaller cloth the Prussian must have found inside the first aid kit. This took longer than the compression and cleaning and during this extended time, the skin of Austria's mouth under pressure from his teeth broke and drew blood. He almost gagged in disgust at the taste of his own blood flowing like short gusts of wind onto his tongue. Instead, he bitterly took note of the irony of how much more of a reaction an accidental break of the skin lining the inside of his mouth received from himself than intentionally drawing blood from his wrist with a kitchen knife. For an instance, he considered pursuing this as well and gnawing at the wound, but biting at the flesh of his own species proved to be too much of a barbaric practice and the idea was promptly abandoned.

Upon the apparent dryness of the wounds, Prussia turned away, focusing his attention once again on the first aid kit, but Austria was not entirely certain what to do with his. His gaze was repeatedly drawn to the albino, and would remain there for a great number of seconds while his mouth formed the first letter of some explanation, or at least some words of any sort, that did not yet exist. Yet, every time there was a chance the elder was about to look back in his direction, his focus quickly retreated to the floor and his mouth clamped shut, which occasionally led to him biting his inner cheek yet again. He couldn't quite explain it, perhaps it was merely pride, but doubted that he had felt worse in decades than he did in that moment. Surely, Prussia _had_ to understand how little he wanted to discuss this. He had to see what the younger was doing and see how unnecessary it was for them to dwell on this, and only how absolutely necessary it was for them to both acknowledge this whole scenario and then move on, and yet, the threat of the Prussian looking in his direction made Austria's blood drain from his face along with his confidence in the realism of that plan.

The Prussian did turn back, this time with somewhat thick bandages from the kit. Once again, he set his focus on caring for the aristocrat's wrist, lost in unreadable thoughts. The look on his face did not leave as he began wrapping the damaged area and nor did it leave when the area was thoroughly covered to completion. It remained as he, rather hesitantly, returned the wrist to its owner, placing it in his lap. Whatever it was that he was thinking was still bothering him, and was likely going to keep bothering him for some time, as was so common in the past. Despite the frequent number of times Austria had witnessed Prussia stubbornly refusing to relent on an idea, this time felt worse. The pianist could count the number of times when he had seen his elder look truly serious on two hands, and this day was now one of them. It felt unnatural to see him like this and the idea that he had caused it resulted in a tidal wave crashing down upon the pool of harbored guilt and discomfort which had already resided inside of him.

"Gil-"

Austria was cut off as gruff hands found his waist and heaved him against the chest of his former rival. Hardly able to process what was happening, he managed to glance upward at the taller man, who was in the process resting his chin on the top of Austria's head. Prussia's breaths were slowed and deep, and could be felt vividly, each one shaking just slightly, which was, somehow, almost as shocking to Austria as the embrace itself had been.

"Dammit . . ." Prussia muttered, burying the lower part of his face into the silken strands of dark hair, his tone betraying his upset. His grip around the younger man tightened, causing said man's breath to hitch in his throat. His fingers curled in around folds in the cloth around Austria's waist and clutched at the curves of the Austrian's sides protectively. And there was reason for that. It was a terrifying thought. A few seconds, a single missed opportunity, and the Austrian might have been on the road to slow, eternal dissolution. Lost forever. He would have _lost_ _Roderich_. The very musician who he had known for nearly his entire life would have been lost to wherever it was that had taken Old Fritz. He was essentially the only part of Prussia's life which was a constant and his presence had become so familiar that it found ways of commonly being comforting. He couldn't lose that.

Austria didn't move, apart from the short breaths that could be felt, rather than heard. For a moment, he may have considered making a comment, but the moment passed, and he remained silent. Even then, he couldn't be sure whether it was out of solemn respect for the situation or paralyzing shock. Perhaps it was that the situation almost didn't seem real, and he was contemplating what one should do in such a scenario when in some manner of dream, and an improbable one, at that. Yet, there he was - pressed against the firm chest of Prussia, held there by the shaking arms of the same man, and taking silent note of the sensation of the shuddered breathing, how it caused the chest he was pressed against to shake as it rose and fell and how it felt as . Maybe he simply couldn't think of anything to say. What was there to say during such a time? There were few things he could truly know then, but one of those few things was that whatever that man was thinking or feeling in those moments was by no means an act. The things he was doing simply weren't things the Prussian _did_. He laughed and fought his way out of his issues, he didn't hold, he didn't whisper, and he _certainly_ didn't seem so . . . was concerned right? Was caring? Or frightened? Were they all right? Whatever it was, there was genuine care embedded in it, and maybe Austria had just enough respect for that to understand what he could in silence.

And he did for the time they spent unmoving. Minutes passed with little to no change, before Prussia tensed, as if coming to a realization or remembering a detail, the way that he had when something had gone terribly wrong during a war. Perhaps both. He pulled his head away from Austria's just enough to meet his eyes, his eyes equally divided between troubled concern and firm command of enough strength to rival that of his brother's.

There was so much in Prussia's eyes, so much that it all muddled together until all that was recognizable was the vivid array of emotion too strong for words. At least, too strong for any words Prussia could come up with. Even at the best of times, there were very few good words which he could proudly lay claim to, but now he had none, and was left shaping his mouth into the beginnings of sentences which wouldn't form and comfort which didn't exist. _Dammit,_ he had nothing. This man whom he had known practically his entire life was breaking in front of him and he had _nothing_ to say to him. Hell, he hadn't even _known_. He had been so focused on everything that was happening and yet, he hadn't even let himself be aware as Austria must have felt like everyone cared so little that he couldn't see the point in bothering to hold on, because no one was ever going to come with a rope or some water or just a hand or _anything_. He must have felt like Prussia didn't care.

How long had it been until he, himself, stopped caring and just let go?

Hell, Prussia _sucked_. Out of all the thought he put into that little capsule, did he ever actually _do_ something to help? Of course he did! After all, he-

He . . .

He really didn't do anything. Maybe some of why he felt like such crap right then was because he had known that longer than he had thought. He clenching his jaw once there was no space between his lips. Having given up, at least temporarily, on his words, there was little else to do than just look at the man in front of him, painful as that was. And, _damn_ , it _was_. Austria just looked so . . . lost. And he looked so lost that he had just lost any and all hope of ever being found again and was just ready to lie on the ground and wait for the bears to come to finally devour him. And the worst part was that no one had even realized that he wasn't there when they left the woods. All of them were so sure that he had just gone and walked ahead of everyone else or found his own way home that no one had even bothered to go and check for him. Practically by chance, someone had stumbled over him just after he had decided that everything would be for the best when the bears got hungry and came looking for him. Just when he didn't even want to be found anymore.

Prussia's eyes softened, burdened by the weight of the sympathy and the pain and the guilt until they just couldn't keep themselves strong anymore.

"Don't-" Prussia murmured, tearing his eyes away from the somewhat startled Austrian to roam the floor until he found the blood - _Roderich's_ blood - and couldn't take looking at that for more than a few tortured seconds and forced himself to look at the other side of the room. He settled for the short tiled gap between himself and Austria. Under normal circumstances, he might have hated to have to speak so directly to the Austrian about something so serious, but the words were coming just a little bit easier now. They were still difficult and uncomfortable to conjure, but they were just a different little bit quicker. "Don't scare me like that."

Prussia paused. That couldn't be all that he had to say. There had to more. There had to be something more, there had to be something _better_. But what was there? What he had just said sounded idiotic, even in his own mind. It was cliché and sentimental and pushing boundaries which he had always been taught that he should leave alone. But, all things considered, maybe that was what Austria needed - something completely different from what Switzerland or his bosses or Germany or Prussia himself would ever have normally said, which was really all that the younger had ever gotten to hear. Even so, that didn't make it any less embarrassing to think back on his own choice of words, no matter how true they were.

"You know, you don't-" Prussia stumbled, his voice uncertain and drowned in embarrassment as a direct result of how far out of his comfort zone he was with this, but soft in comparison to his normal tone, briefly glancing up at the Austrian, violet eyes unreadable, but this was different. On any normal day, or even if it wasn't, he couldn't read them because they were guarded. They were careful and suspicious and unwilling to share anything he felt with anyone. But, now wasn't like that. Every supposedly indestructible wall of violet had been shattered and everything had just flowed out, but this was still new. After all, even they looked vaguely unsure of themselves. The upset was still there, but Austria wasn't going to stop the Prussian if he tried to keep talking; he was at least willing to listen. "You don't have to, it's just I - why would - I don't know, it's just . . . what's wrong, Roderich? What's _actually_ wrong? You can tell me this time. Ja, I know that last time I asked that really sucked, but I _really_ need to know now. If you tell me right now, I'll listen, I promise."

Something changed in Austria's eyes. He looked melted, like the last stone in the wall which sheltered him and cut him off from from everyone else in the world had shattered and everything else was raw and unprepared. Everything in those broken orbs was so uncharacteristically vulnerable that Prussia genuinely began wondering if tears were going to begin forming in, and soon falling from, them.

' _Mist!_ ' Prussia internally screamed upon the first inkling of the thought, a distinct sense of panic filling absolutely everything which made him. ' _Mist, freaking mist, freaking crap, no, he can't cry! I thought that this was hard enough already, but now this? I won't be able to take it if he cries! Shoot, shoot, shoot - what do I do? What'll make him feel better? What else does he want when he's upset other than his piano? I don't know! He's basically never upset and I'm pretty sure that he doesn't want his piano right now, so what am I supposed to do?_ '

"Gilbert, I . . ." In the midst of Prussia's frantic decision making, or lack, thereof, Austria had paused, and looked about in unsure consideration. And, for a moment, he bit his lip and truly did seem to consider answering, _really_ answering, the whole of Prussia's world put on hold for any little fragment of an answer which he could find, but, a quiet clicking - a grinding, almost, - sounded from the floor below and his attention was stolen, at least partially. "It's not —"

A distant thump came unexpectedly from the downstairs.

' _Was that . . .?_ ' Prussia's thoughts echoed in his mind suddenly as he pondered the question. No, it couldn't be. The two of them were, after all, upstairs. It was, of course, very likely that he had misheard. It had almost sounded like a lock being turned on the floor below. There really was only one door on the lower floor which even had a working lock, aside from an old closet in a remote area of the kitchen which, as far as he was concerned, hadn't been opened in nearly a century. Germany wasn't supposed to be at the house for another few hours at least. There wasn't any possibility that he could be. It had to be a soldier's instincts, left over from war. After so many near countless years of harsh, vicious warfare, nearly every sound was enough to capture his attention and get him prepared for whatever was to come - expectations set for the very worst. Often times, it was wild and random, merely an instinct, as the name stated, and hardly the best resource in the residing peace of the modern day. Then again, those instincts were based around hundreds of years of training, and had served him beyond expectation during the wars of the previous century, though those two were far from his favorite things to reminisce about.

Whether it was justified or not, Prussia's body stiffened and fell into a more stable silence. Austria shot him a perplexed gaze, the window of opportunity for his revealing himself collapsed into oblivion, - a verbal cue that he had heard nothing of what the former nation was listening for. Under normal circumstances, Austria would likely have been treated to a hissed interrogation about the sound, then an exasperated and irritated scoff, glance, and remark upon his admitting that he had not heard whatever it was that he was apparently meant to have heard, but the pianist _was_ pooled on the frigid flooring of his bathroom after hysterically clawing his wrist open with a steak knife in whatever unspeakable horrors were haunting him from the inside, and had been for some unspoken amount of time. With that in mind, Prussia held his tongue and focused his line of vision on the hanging door. It was hardly another few seconds before a dull creaking echoed throughout what must have been every room in the ancient house. With that, the fragile nation held so close grew stiff and froze, as his captor had. Even Austria, delicate and so unlike a soldier as he was, had to have heard the hinges of the front door yearn for oil with a cry powerful enough to shake the very foundations of the abode. No matter how either one chose to think of the situation, surely, someone else was inside of the house.

"Gilbert?" Called a rough German voice from the doorway below, accompanied by a relatively quiet shutting of the front door. It was just like him to be careful, even when no one else could be. "Roderich?"

The familiarity of the voice flooded Prussia's very bloodstream with relaxation, if such a thing was at all possible considering the situation. Was it midnight already? He swiftly pulled one hand away from the Austrian's waist and dropped it down into the ripped front pocket of his jeans, rifling impatiently through its contents as quickly as was possible until his fingers settled around the sleek, yet beyond scratched, case of his phone. He fixed his grip on the object and yanked it out of his pocket. With a instantaneous press of a button, the screen lit up, an image of Germany and himself near collapsed at some nightclub he couldn't recognize, beyond intoxicated, yet having the time of their lives, the light fixtures above casting an unnatural vagenta shade over both of their faces, decorated by one simple number - the time - filling the screen. That time read ' _22:47'._

' _Geez,_ ' Prussia thought to himself. ' _How early did he leave home to get here? It's not even eleven! He must have had the world's best traffic, too!_ '

The disbelief which came with the unbelievable timing aside, Prussia was beyond grateful to have his younger brother by his side during such a time. Without him, the Prussian was, for lack of a better word, for he truly hated to be described using the word which follows and would gladly challenge anyone who was so brave as to refer to him by such, quite helpless in the matter. Any mild form of comfort, especially when he who required assistance was _Austria_ , of all people, was challenging enough as it was, but _this_? Yes, he was getting better at doing this sort of a thing, but this was another matter altogether. If he froze up trying to offer anything more than a pat on the back or a rather awkward word of assistance, if you could even call it that, how on _Earth_ was he supposed to convince a man he had spent half his life tormenting that he was worth the air that he breathed?

The answer was simple - he couldn't, if his response to this recent revelation had taught him anything. There was absolutely no way that he could ever possibly do anything of the sort. But his brother was another story entirely. Yes, Germany was _far_ from the picture of a socially comfortable man, but if there was anything he could do, aside from conquering nations who dared to challenge him to a wrestling match as if the act were as simple as swatting a mildly aggravating insect from his shoulder, he could think logically and talk to Austria _worlds_ better than his elder brother could, though Prussia supposed that the latter didn't take much. A burn of guilt and fury inflamed his conscious as he reminded himself of how he had frozen up moments earlier. If that proved anything, it proved that he couldn't help Austria, as much as he wished he could. But Germany was another matter. If anyone in the world knew what to do in such a situation, Germany would. And, with Germany's help, nothing was going to stop Prussia from trying.

"Ja," Prussia called back to the younger German, his voice not quite betraying exactly how relieved and ecstatic he was to share in the company of his own flesh and blood during such a time. "We're upstairs!"

"Which room are you in?"

"I left the door open!"

"Alright, thank you!"

It was with this previously mentioned enthusiasm that Prussia returned his gaze to Austria once the series of heavy footfall became audible. From the moment that he did so, it became starkly apparent that the Austrian was far from sharing in his enthusiasm. To put it simply, he looked absolutely mortified. Though Prussia would have thought it difficult, perhaps impossible, especially for one who spent such extensive amounts of time indoors, the pianist's face had paled considerably. His eyes had grown wide and held in them an almost manic terror which Prussia hadn't seen since his days on the battlefield and his mouth was held open just slightly, from which his breathing was anxious and shallow.

Prussia's expression twisted into a confused frown, ridden with concern, and glanced down at Austria's wrist, scanning it for any sign of increase in damage, in case this was blood related. Upon inspection, there didn't seem to be anything more than the last time he had checked, though that wasn't saying much. Just to be safe, he covered it with the cloth again and took hold of it once again. It could hardly be considered a stretch to believe that it might need further compression.

"Hey, you okay?" Prussia asked, scooting backward just enough to distance the two immortals, for fear that the closeness was either scaring or hurting the Austrian in some way. Weird, he'd never thought he could ever really scare him, but here they were. He grabbed ahold of the damaged wrist to at least keep some kind of small hold on the other and look after that which required care, and cocked his head to the side just so in a further expression of his perplexity.

If Austria ever was going to answer the question, though it didn't look like he would have been in the state to do so for quite some time, the opportunity was once again stolen from him as the thundering footsteps came to an abrupt halt, averting the attention of bother elfer Germanics from one another. The new object of their shared focus wasted no time in making himself visible through the opening in the doorway, and upon doing so, pulled the door further open, allowing his visibility to the other two living figures to increase - the image of the well-built German, clad in the white button-up and faded beige slacks he seemed to favor on uneventful days, in front of them clear, were it not previously.

"What are you two doing over here?" Germany began to ask, arctic eyes dragging themselves over the familiar figures in front of them, quickly learning to favor the wrapped Austrian forearm cradled quite gently in the hands of the dissolved nation he knew so well. Upon noticing this detail, his entire face seemed to tighten, his eyes briefly widening in realization, before narrowing slightly, not in anger, but in what could only be described as somewhat horrified and suspicious inspection, the interest he had previously held in the answer to his question forgotten.

"What happened here?" Germany inquired slowly, a calculated caution lacing his tone and coloring his eyes.

"It's _nothing_ , Ludwig," Austria hurriedly assured the younger German, his face having regained all of its previous color and more, now horribly heated in overwhelming humiliation. He wouldn't look at Germany, carefully avoiding eye contact in his embarrassment, his head just slightly hung. His previously apparent panic was now delicately hidden from sight in place of the stronger feeling, but still existed in his rather poorly disguised tone. "I simply-"

"The hell do you mean it's 'nothing'?" Prussia demanded, not flinching under the harsh and betrayed glare Austria shot him. "You cutting yourself is not 'nothing'!"

"He _what_?" Germany exclaimed, loudly enough that Austria visibly flinched, his face so pained with ruined pride that Prussia almost felt bad for announcing his doings. Arctic eyes widened in shock and rapidly passed between the two, frantically searching for some clue, verbal or otherwise, to either confirm or deny this accusation, though a quick glance toward his younger brother made Prussia fully aware that the younger was actively hoping for the latter.

Prussia couldn't blame him, he really couldn't. Of course the younger was close to Austria, they both were. After the Great Wars, they really were just about all any of them had. And of course that only made this entire situation so much harder to deal with. It broke his heart to see the desperate yearning for his elder brother to tell him that it wasn't true and that Austria really was okay in his younger brother's eyes, but there wasn't anything he could tell the taller which would possibly comfort him. Besides, if life experience had taught him anything, the both of them would be better off knowing the truth. After all, he always had been a firm believer in ripping off bandages rather than peeling them off a millimeter at a time like Austria preferred to. Fortunately, though Austria seemed to very strongly disagree with this sentiment, Prussia knew exactly how to go about tearing this one off.

A number of marched steps across the floor led Germany to his brother's side, where he made haste in kneeling down beside the elder. Having found his seat on the tiles, he delicately wrapped his own fingers around Austria's more distracting forearm, being careful to avoid brushing any area where one of the numerous scars might be. Once his hold was secure, he began steadily bringing the limb closer to himself than his brother, silently and attentively coaxing said brother to release his protective grasp on the thing. Prussia was, as expected, hesitant, but, after a reassuring glance from his younger brother, doubtfully and sluggishly uncurled his fingers, stopping for a moment and grazing his fingers across the pale skin before inevitably pulling his hand away, though he refused to move this hand more than twenty centimeters away and his eyes stood their ground on the two connected arms which were not his own.

With a pace just slowed enough to be careful, yet just brisk enough to prevent the pianist from actively protesting, Germany, having no suitable words but being just uncomfortable enough that he felt he needed to do _something_ , pulled back the dampened cloth from rough surface of the bandages. He knew when he managed to locate his elder brother being unable to continue watching and forcing his stare away from the corner of his eye that what he saw once he pulled back those bandages was going to upset him. But, even so, he doubted that he ever would have been able to prepare himself for the sight which got when he did so. The pale skin of the ruined forearm, revealing the series of fresh scars littering the otherwise perfect skin which, though they had now ceased their blood flow, sent horrified chills through his body. How many even were there? Too many. One would have been too many, this was panic inspiring - a hideous number. There were more than ten, that much was sure, though he couldn't bear to look at those things long enough to really count them. But that which was most concerning was that the depth was so impressive - though it felt repulsive to describe such a thing with such a word intended for praise - that it would have easily required a frantic rush to the hospital, were the musician any regular human being.

" _Ludwig!_ " Austria hissed in undignified fury, before sending an anxious look at Prussia. The youngest man looked outright horrified, his eyes softening in upset and his mouth pressed into a tight line, but not entirely surprised. After a few mere moments, though they felt anything but mere, the Austrian's pride couldn't bear it anymore and he returned his sights to the Prussian, who, though he had been a soldier for so many years, looked visibly sick from the sight of the wounds alone. He seemed to search for the appropriate words to say for a few more tedious seconds, before settling on an indefinable look, which was retorted by a sharp, though somewhat desperate, demand. "Don't involve him in this!"

"It's not my fault!" Prussia responded defensively. "He has a right to care about you."

"This is what you meant when you asked me about him a few weeks back, " Germany interrupted, breaking the tense conversation with an equally tense address. "You knew about this. Why didn't you tell me?"  
"What?" Prussia responded dumbly, turning to stare at his younger brother in puzzlement. When he did so, he was met with a stern expression, arctic eyes brimming with an emotion Prussia couldn't read. Perhaps it was anger. It seemed somewhat angry. Or perhaps it was betrayal, or disappointment. Germany was far from being easy to read, more so than most, though his elder brother could usually get some vague idea of what he was thinking after so long. After all, he _had_ known his brother since the younger had been formed. Maybe he was upset. Yes, there was definitely some level of upset, but something else seemed thinly restrained. From Prussia's experience, what he said next could very well determine exactly which emotion would soon reveal itself. So, his response came somewhat carefully, especially since he knew that he was playing dumb. "Why was I supposed to call you? I already did that a week ago."

"Gilbert," Germany reprimanded, his voice rising in volume and irritation flaring in his eyes, this emotion now quite apparent, a clear indication that such a response was very much unwanted. "You're supposed to tell me if anything is wrong!"

"I didn't have time to tell you!" Prussia snapped. It was only partially untrue. He wasn't sure what the rest of the reason was, but it seemed important at the time and still seemed pretty significant now, even without a label.

"This is the kind of emergency you need to _make_ time to tell me about _immediately!_ "

"Well, sorry, if I was too busy actually doing something to call you in your freaking lightspeed car!"

"You can't drive at lightspeed, Gilbert, but I would have come damn near it if you had told me this was happening!"

"I don't care!" Prussia screeched, some level of his true panic seeping into his tone. "What does it matter now? Can't you see that there's blood freaking everywhere? Are you going to lecture me or help me?"

For a few seconds, Germany remained silent, no valid argument nor response seeming to take priority in passing through his mind to his tongue. Instead, he grunted, one last audible clue of concerned enragement, before at last releasing his next murmured words. "Be more careful next time."

As he turned back to the unfortunate, yet very much eye-catching, sight before him, it was obvious to both of the other individuals in the room that Germany had now clearly discovered that the damage was more heart wrenching on closer inspection. Perhaps having it so close somehow made it seem more real. Now that their active blood flow had come to an end, the severity of the scattered, yet disturbingly organized, wounds could be deduced with increased clarity - an opportunity the German wasted no time taking full advantage of. His eyes trailed up and down the limb, narrowing on occasion in what Prussia could only assume was his version of concern. After a number of seconds, a sigh escaped Germany's lips.

"My goodness . . ." Germany muttered, lifting his head to meet the Austrian's eyes, or, at least, as much as was possible, considering how determined the man in question was to avoid eye contact. "What the hell were you thinking, Roderich?"

"I-" Austria stammered, his conception of any possible excuse dissolved under the German's piercing gaze and the ignominy which came with it. His eyes fleeted about the room, particularly favoring anything which was located in such a way that looking at it did not mean seeing either of the other two men in the room - most of these favored sights being the tiles of the floor which were not coated in liquid. For a favorable portion of time, his mouth remained ajar, tongue seeking words which refused to come, until, eventually, he closed, accepting the lack of words to speak with a bit of his lip.

"These scars next to the ones you've just made are nearly healed. You've done this before." Germany stated. "More than once, if I'm not wrong."

Both elder nations in the room froze, both pairs of eyes widening in some undesirable form of horror, though those two which were violet took the role of mortification rather than the pure horrified shock in those which were painted crimson. Prussia's head snapped up, mouth fully agape and his face molded into incredulous upset.

"You _what_?" Prussia shrieked, eyes wider than the nation he found himself staring at, whose eyes flickered toward him and who bit his lip uncomfortably, though whether the Austrian reacted this way as a result of this being discovered or simply of the crimson-eyed man's dramatic - and strangely hurt - response, Prussia couldn't be entirely sure. Frankly, it wasn't a question whose answer was significant enough to take priority in his mind. His head whirled toward his younger brother, eyes flowing with distress.

"What the hell do you mean he's done this more than once before? How many times?" Prussia demanded, not waiting for an answer from the blonde before his head flew to another direction, his eyes now locked onto Austria's pools of lilac degradation. No, Austria couldn't have, he was - well, he wasn't fine, but Prussia at least would have noticed if he was _cutting_. _No_. No, this was Austria. This was _Roderich_. He couldn't- he wouldn't . . . would he? _Had_ he? "No, you can't- you're- I- _Roderich!_ What happened to coming to me?"

Austria looked down in such a way which almost looked just the slightest bit guilty, though that could very well have just been the result of his former-rival's unexpected and quite overwhelming response. He made no attempt to justify himself or deny this accusation, which both made the oppressive weight forming in Prussia's stomach grow tenfold and his temper flare. The Prussian just couldn't help it. How had this even happened? Maybe it hadn't. Maybe this really was only the first time. Sure, Austria really didn't look like it, but maybe this was all just a joke. It had to be. Now, all he had to do was prove it to himself, and there was only one way to do that, so, he reached over and took hold of the familiar wrist, which was willingly relieved from the hold of the other Germanic in the room when he gave it a relatively soft tug.

"Gilbert, don't," Austria protested weakly, covering his face with his free hand, but did little to stop Prussia from probing the damage with his eyes when he tried.

As had previously been decided by whatever any of them called fate, there was more than what Prussia had originally perceived. It was strenuous trying to find the marks, but they were no doubt there to find. Just barely poking out from the more noticeable injuries was, indeed, a collection of several dulled marks. There wasn't anything else they could be. They had to be the deliberately inflicted wounds of a knife. They weren't all that noticeable on their own, but once they had been pointed out, it wasn't especially difficult to locate them. Prussia's throat constricted. He felt sick. Sure, he had been pretty much certain that they were there before, but he hadn't _seen_ them, so he had always carried some supply of hope that he had been mistaken. That, and he didn't know how _many_ of them there were. It was just - how had any of this even _happened_?

"Roderich . . ." Prussia found himself pleading in a tone weighed down by helpless emotion, unable to find any other word to speak.

"Roderich, this is an issue," Germany continued, reminding both of the others of his presence in the room, though Prussia did not seem to appear as though he had heard him, doing little other than flickering his eyes about the scars. "You need help."

"I-" Austria stammered, forcing his eyes away from this abnormally emotional version of the Prussia with a swallow to gather the courage to look the younger nation in the eyes. "I'm not a child."

"I know, but this won't get better until you talk about it," Germany pressed. He reached up and rested a hand against Austria's cheek gently, and let his thumb brush back and forth across silky skin patiently. Prussia tracked every move silently, his eyes narrowing as something inside of him boiled. He wasn't supposed to be touching him like that, and Austria wasn't supposed to let him. Everyone was just supposed to know that, so why didn't his younger brother? "Accepting help doesn't make you any less of an adult. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Austria only shook his head persistently and drew his eyes back to some inconspicuous object toward the back of the room. This response drew a tired and defeated sigh from Germany. Dissatisfied, he drew his hand back, but Austria wasn't watching. With a grunt, he hauled himself back onto his feet and clasped his hand on his elder brother's shoulder - a gesture which snatched the Prussian back to the present from his thoughts and rotated his head over to the object of his refound attention - meeting crimson eyes with his own.

"Take him to bed, alright? It's been a long day and we're all tired." Germany instructed wearily.

"I - yeah, sure," Prussia agreed with a disorganized nod. "Yeah, I'll get him to bed."

Germany's only response to his brother's compliance came in the form of a thankful glance sent his brother's way, and he then rose abruptly from the floor. He paused, looking in conspicuous worry once more at the Austrian - which for a moment drew something defensive out of Prussia - then turned and trudged out of the room once he recognized that this glimpse was not to be returned, leaving only two near-human creatures left in the room, the harsh reality of the current circumstances more than felt between them in the place of any distinct sound, aside from the pounding of boots against wood just outside the room.

"How long?" Prussia asked in what was intended as a demand but came out as more of a strained plea, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice. "How long has this been happening?"

"I-" Austria began to decide, exhaling in the quietest manner which he was able. His face was now marginally less scarlet in color. Perhaps having two people in the room while he was forced to reveal something which he probably had no intentions of ever sharing was just overwhelming. Now, it was obvious that having Germany aware of any of this had brought his guard up again, practically erasing nearly all of the progress which Prussia had made with him just mere minutes prior. He wasn't even looking at Prussia now. "I don't see why that's any of your business."

"Roderich, we've been through this," Prussia grumbled, not denying even to himself that the undoing of all connection which he had worked so hard to build up a few minutes prior was incredibly frustration. "It's my business when it's something like this, because I'm going to make it my business when it involves you- you doing something to yourself like this. At least tell me this. How long?"

"Let's not do this tonight, Gilbert."

"Why not? I just pulled you out of a puddle of your own blood - when will there ever be a better time for this?"

"Gilbert, I really don't see why this is necessary."

"Just get it out of the way and I won't ask again."

"Do we really have to do this?"

"Roderich, _please_."

Austria froze, finally looking back at Prussia.

"The first time was in 1788," Austria admitted reluctantly.

"1788?" Prussia repeated dumbly. Panic began seeping into his veins, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. " _1788?_ But that was forever ago! You've been doing this for that long? How did no one ever notice?"

"I wasn't finished. I was a foolish drunk and Turkey was closing in on my men. It was very stressful and I acted impulsively. After the fact, I withheld the information for as long as I could, but the news of what I'd done spread eventually. It took so long that people don't believe it ever happened anymore, and I'm glad for that. I never touched a blade to do such a thing again until recently. That was about a month ago, and tonight, now."

"So, it's not constant?" Prussia asked, a glimmer of relief glowing in both his mind and voice.

"No," Austria answered resolutely. He sounded almost offended by the very idea that he would have done this consistently for such a period of time. Prussia didn't know what Austria thought was the better alternative, but he wasn't quite sure that he wanted to either.

"And what about . . . _wanting_ to do something like this? How long has that been around?"

"It mostly occurred in fleeting eras. But that was mostly just foolishness; it only ever started to become real during the 1940's and the 1950's."

"Why the fifties? That was your big independence decade. I thought you were super proud of your place during then 'cause you wouldn't shut up about getting to have neutrality before West and me."

"I _did_ appreciate it, but there were . . . a number of reasons," Austria admitted tentatively. He paused, but upon a curious look from Prussia, he cleared his throat and went on. "I had more time on my hands to think about — _certain_ matters."

"Which matters?"

At that, Austria drew the line. His eyes grew hard and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"The Wars? The divorce with Liz? The Wall?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Roddy-"

"I said _I don't want to talk about this anymore_."

Prussia said nothing but simply held his gaze. However, it was changed, now scanning the Austrian, whose inhales and exhales of air could be easily heard, just as the rising and falling of his chest could be seen, looking him up and down and across every inch of his face with an unchanged expression. His grip tightened until it bordered on painful, but then relieved itself after a few moments, loosening almost to the point of letting go altogether. And then it did. He took his hands away from Austria's wrists, leaving the biting air to nip at the bandaged skin in their absence.

"Alright. C'mon," Prussia sighed. "I'll take you to your room."

"I do _not_ need you to _carry_ me."

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna trust you with a whole lot right now."

Austria was by no means satisfied with the idea, but he didn't protest when Prussia reached over to gather him up in his arms and he only huffed when he was pressed flush up against the Prussian's chest. The two of them rose up above the floor, and Prussia caught Austria taking one last look at where the knife had been flung across the floor. He held the younger man a little bit closer after that.

Then, with the Austrian in his arms, Prussia ambled across the floor and out of the door and started his way back down the eerie corridor

"Do you have to hold me like that?" Austria grumbled miserably after a few doors had been passed.

"Like what?"

"Like we've just gotten married."

"Like we've just _what_?" Laughter laced Prussia's voice and poured into his eyes at the sheer absurdity of hearing something of that nature coming out of _Austria_. A teasing smile crept across his face and he cocked an eyebrow down at the man in his arms.

"Well, it's popularly called bridal style," Austria explained defensively, his face heating up a little in embarrassment. "And we're not married and I'm not a woman."

"Well, now you just made me want to hold you like this more often!"

"You're so difficult,"

"Remind me of that when we're married,"

"I didn't mean it that way!"

"Are you sure about that?"

" _Yes_ , Gilbert, I'm _very_ sure,"

"Alright, if you say so," Prussia hummed teasingly, and he very much appreciated the frustrated grumble which came from the Austrian in his arms. Even as he came to a final stop at the door second closest to the ballroom, he found himself chuckling under his breath. He turned to his side and pushed the door with his shoulder just enough to knock it open all in the same amused mindset.

"Gilbert?" Austria piped up in a confused and correcting voice. "Why are you stopping here? You should know very well by now that my room is the next door down."

"I know," Prussia assured him, nudging the door to his own room open with his foot before slipping inside to greet the darkness. "I'm stopping here because you're sleeping in here with me tonight. Last time I left you alone, which turned out to not exactly be the best decision I've ever made because it didn't work out very well, but I did have to call West over, so I did have a reason, and- Basically, I'm not leaving you alone this time. You've had more than too much of that."

"That is hardly a decision for you to make,"

"Hey, if you're going to try and kill yourself as soon as you're alone, you've had too much of being alone. I'm not going to see you die tonight. Or any other night, for that matter."

It was quiet for a minute after that.

"I'm alright, Gilbert," Austria insisted quietly after a moment of shocked silence. And he could feel Prussia's eyes linger on him. "Really. You can go."

It was quiet for a minute longer. But this time, the atmosphere was new - brisk and arctic.

"I'm not going anywhere, Roddy," Prussia assured him when he finally gathered his speech back in an equally hushed tone. "I'm — just gonna stay here for a bit. I'm not gonna leave you here by yourself."

Pushing past the words and the air, Prussia edged forward in the room and gave the door a brisk kick to force it back into its frame. The Austrian resting in his arms hadn't spoken a word of protest since their last conversation, so the march toward the lavish bed in the center of the room was no less than effortless. And as soon as he reached it, he set the Austrian down on top of it like he had been carefully sculpted of easily breakable glass. He stood where he was for a minute, then tentatively took a seat on the bed's edge, just next to his former enemy, and began a period of uncomfortable silence, which was only broken by the sound of soft breathing coming from the two of them.

"You know," Prussia began after some time had passed, trailing off as any and all words ceased their flow to the overwhelming awkwardness that pulled at his throat. _Are you okay? Is everything alright? Do you need someone to talk to? I'm here for you._ Any of those things would have been suitable, and he tried to say them, at least one, he really did. He opened his mouth and looked over at the aristocrat, then turned away as he found himself unable to hold his stare any longer. "If you're, uh . . ."

 _Upset? Hurt? Lonely? Going to do this again? Wanting to do this again? Scared? In need of someone?_

"I'm not, and I'm _fine_." Came Austria's curt response, causing Prussia to pause, in part due to the undeniable frost of the other's tone. Without any comment between them, the two remained in uncomfortable silence for nearly a minute, a time with the Prussian spent mostly dragging his eyes across the floor in thought, only looking back rarely. On one such occasion, he seemed to find his voice and spoke again.

"You, uh, you want to tell me what's going on?"

"No."

Another stretch of silence passed, with not a word spoken and not a sound made other than the soft rustling of fabric and quiet creaking of the bed.

"Roderich, why didn't you tell me?" Austria froze. "About this, whatever it is? About feeling like this? About doing this? About doing this before? About wanting to do this? Hell, I don't even know when this all started, I just - I don't know, I just - damn, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

For half of a second, Austria looked like he was at least willing to sincerely consider putting up a fuss, but he met Prussia's eyes and shrunk back. From that, Prussia could safely assume that he looked as hurt as he sounded. As he felt. He didn't understand why he felt so hurt, but he could recognize the feeling anywhere, and it more than looked like Austria could recognize the feeling on him as well. Now that it was out there, they both held their tongues.

"It's . . . complicated," Austria whispered tentatively, and the discomfort broke his eyes away from Prussia.

"Roderich, look at me," Commanded Prussia with a gentleness about him that clearly made Austria uneasy. Maybe it was because of this uneasiness that he did what he was told cooperatively. Regardless, the Austrian's responsiveness gave him the opportunity to make stronger eye contact with him than he had in who knows how long. He could make the steady plea in silence. He could mutely let the younger know that he was looking for the Austrian he'd come to know for almost his entire life to speak to him. From one soldier of war to another of the same, he could call wordlessly on any and all trust they had ever built up over years and years, and years on top of those. Just by staring deep into the familiarity of eminence irises and knowing they were staring poignantly back at him. "Why'd you do this?"

Even by only looking at his eyes, Prussia could see the younger acutely tense. Austria shifted uncomfortably, and the now stronger desire for Prussia to _leave_ was threaded into his knitted eyebrows and melted into his eyes.

Prussia, himself, must have looked almost helpless, because he wished to offer some form of comfort, but lacked the knowledge of _how_ to do so. It was common knowledge that this particular topic was a difficult subject on its own, but was more of his own personal knowledge that it was _worlds_ more so with someone even remotely similar to Austria. If it were France, he would have known what to do. If it were Spain, he would have known what to do. If it were Italy, he would have known what to do. Hell, if it were Germany, he probably would have known exactly what to do. If it were practically anyone else, he would have known what to do. But, it wasn't. Instead, it was the reserved man who followed tradition before all else and whom he had known for most of his entire life. He couldn't think of how to comfort or coax gently, either. He was a soldier - trained in combat, not personal relations.

"It's none of your concern," Austria choked out eventually. And Prussia almost groaned because Austria wasn't even trying anymore.

"Oh, come on, cut the crap!" Prussia grumbled. What little patience he had gathered, to begin with, was all but drained and his concern absorbed just about all which he had left. "You've already given that to me. Whether I should or not, I'm damn concerned and I'm going to keep asking until you give me a real answer."

"You wouldn't understand!" Austria spat in a sudden burst of pent-up fury. Every word dripped with suppressed intensity, every drop swarming in a raging sea which electrified the amethyst waves. He would never admit it, but Prussia nearly jumped back because it was so unexpected that Austria could ever have such _wild_ eyes. Even during times of war of suffering, he was used to seeing Austria maintain some aspect of control, but that barrier of restrained sophistication was just _gone_.

"You won't know that until I try," Prussia pushed, still in something of a daze.

" _I don't want you to try!_ "

Silence fell. Silence stretched. Silence dripped with the echoes of the truth spoken in both active minds. There it was. He'd said it. Both of them knew well that it was the truth and neither one of them could do anything to change it.

"Yeah, I know you don't want me to," Prussia admitted. "But I'm — I'm worried

about you."  
"Don't waste your time," Austria growled bitterly. "I don't need pity from anyone, least of all you."

Frustrated, Prussia scowled. But he couldn't find any words to vocalize what he felt. If anything, he felt reasonably betrayed that Austria really didn't trust him in the least. Naturally, that would be normal for anything a couple centuries back or something trivial today, but he had thought that the First and Second World Wars had forced them into making a connection which he had thought was, at least to a certain extent, still in tact, but it seemed that the sentiment wasn't reciprocated. Like most of what they shared, he had assumed it wasn't a fact he would ever have to state because it was stronger unspoken than not, but it seemed now that he had taken a leap of faith without knowing the chasm was too wide to bridge.

"It's not like that kind of pity," Prussia bristled. And Austria _burned_.

"Then what _is it_?"

"It's like — it's more like Weltschmerz."

"I'm not the world, stupid."

"I know that! English is just a stupid language which doesn't have any good words, so I have to get the good ones from ours."

"Mine is much better."

"No, it's not — you've got too many dialects! And it's not even your own language!"

"I only made it so that most cities have their own. And it may not be recognized as its own language, but it's far better than yours."

"You don't need a dialect per city! No one else can understand you guys and your weird code languages."

"Precisely why we need so many."

"You're ridiculous,"

"If I bother you so much, leave,"

"A thousand years and you still don't get that I'm not going anywhere?"

"I don't ' _get'_ why you stay,"

"That's a dumb question,"  
"Then what, pray tell, is the answer?"

"I stay 'cause I like staying. Duh,"

A minute passed, an insult to Prussia's intelligence was mumbled, but nothing more. There had been a lot of moments like those lately, the ones when nothing was said or done. Or maybe there were things to be done and more still to be said, but neither man was willing to take a blow to his own pride and go about doing and saying those things.

"Aren't you going to change into your nightclothes?" Was the first thing Austria said or did since their latest of those moments had begun. Actually, he asked, but a conversation had been sparked nonetheless.

"Nah, I didn't bring any with me," Prussia answered casually.

"That's disgusting,"

"Hey, if you want to go and change, go ahead, but I want you back here when you're done and not in that bathroom,"

"What was your plan for staying here if you didn't bring any clothes with you?"

"I've got some left here from the last few times I've stopped by,"

"If you have clothes here, then why don't you change into something new for the night?"

"I'll change into something in the morning, don't sweat it,"

"You've been wearing the same clothes since yesterday, at least change into something new before I share a bed with you,"

"Fine, Mutti," Prussia complied irritably. "I'll get changed, so go and get dressed in your room before I do,"

"Alright," Austria agreed and was on his feet and to the door before Prussia even had the chance to make it to the drawers where he had learned to store his clothes.

By the time Prussia was the only person left in the room, he had made it to the drawers and soon after, he'd carelessly pulled out some old pair of faded pajamas in his favorite color - Prussian blue. He wriggled his way out of his shirt and tossed it into a hamper located just beside the drawers, then repeated the action with the rest of his clothing, before redressing himself in his pajamas, which he honestly couldn't tell the age of. Naturally, with how professional he was with his ridiculous number of clothing layers, Austria was not knocking at the door as soon as Prussia was done, so he took the opportunity to stroll over to the half bath attached to the room. While he was there, he gathered the effort to find and use his toothbrush.

After that, he lounged around on the counter for a minute or so. He couldn't tell what the countertop was made of, but it felt welcoming to the touch. Inevitably, the feeling of refreshing stone against the skin of his palms was not enough to satisfy him and he hopped the short distance to the floor. The wood of the floorboards wailed in misery, but the sound wasn't unfamiliar now and he put it off in exchange for getting to the much more comfortable footrest which was the room's only bed. Unlike most everything else in the house, there was a surprising lack of distressing noises of death produced when he sat on it

"You don't have to knock, Roddy," Prussia called at the man just beyond the door. On cue, the wooden barrier was broken and light from the hallway seeped into the bedroom.

"I didn't want to walk in on anything," Explained Austria as he slunk into the darkened room, the door falling tightly shut behind him. It would have been weird seeing him so dressed down if his pajamas didn't look like they ought to be in a history museum. Instead, Austria himself was the only one who seemed to think that being seen so informal was uncomfortably out of the ordinary, but that, in turn, served to make it more normal.

"Roddy, you wear so many layers of weird old clothes that there's no way you could ever be done before me,"

In turn, Austria rolled his eyes, but held a silence unnatural to him. At least, Prussia thought he had rolled his eyes. It was much more difficult to read expressions well in the dark than fictional characters were given credit for. But he could tell when Austria was moving, and he did move to wander through the room in the direction of the one prominent piece of furniture in it. All the way toward the bed in the center of the room, he held his attitude of reservation together. Then again, walking wasn't famous for including an awful lot of conversation, nor was lying down on a bed and crawling under the covers. Under this example, Prussia made himself comfortable without much to say as well.

When he had himself faithfully tucked under the thick blanket, Austria had himself meticulously positioned at the very edge of the mattress with his back toward Prussia. That wasn't uncommon. Generally, he wouldn't imagine that the Austrian would be very excited about the idea of the two of them sharing a bed, so of course Austria would move as far away from him as he possibly could. However, tonight, Prussia made up his mind that he wasn't going to take that.

"Hey," Prussia called. He didn't get a response, so he tried again. "Hey, Roddy."

"Hm?" Came Austria's less than enthusiastic response.

"Hey, hey, _hey,_ "

"What is it?" Austria groaned under his breath. He rolled over to frown over at Prussia, which fortunately was exactly what the Prussian was hoping he would do. Austria had little time to anything other than give a squeaky noise of surprise before calloused hands found and wrapped around his waist, then pulled him all the way across to about the middle of the mattress, where he was met by Prussia's waiting form.

"What are you doing?" Austria demanded as he found himself dragged snuggly into Prussian arms and against an awaiting chest. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get out of this one, and a quick glance up into Prussia's eyes only confirmed that suspicion.

"I said I wanted you to sleep with me tonight, so tonight you're sleeping over here with me," Prussia explained nonchalantly, then let his eyes fall shut and nuzzled into Austria's hair. "Now go to bed, Prinzessin."

If Austria really felt like protesting, he didn't put much effort into it. He made a few irritated sounds and struggled briefly to worm his way out of the hold, but ultimately surrendered to the affectionate gesture. After that, he let himself be held, but held his posture intact. That didn't seem like it would be very helpful for falling asleep - which was something he very much needed to do - so Prussia took a hand away from the Austrian's torso to bring up to the back of his head. Austria initially made a motion to pull away, but made a noise of surprise when Prussian fingers began running through his hair in soft, comforting caresses, and melted into the touch with no further argument.

The only remaining issue after that was how completely and utterly awake Austria was. After the minutes kept ticking by without any signs of future success, Prussia privately concluded that Austria was having some trouble falling asleep. He had never had issues like that during peacetime. But this side of the continent was living peacefully, so he was probably either bothered by the idea that someone else was in his bed - which would be kind of stupid, considering how many times he had been married off to some random nation whom he had met maybe once beforehand in his entire life - or this was another one of those medication things. Or he was still up because all the things which had made him hurt himself in the first place were still on his mind.

Prussia wished that they wouldn't be. He wished that they would just leave Austria alone.

Austria seemed tired, but he wasn't sleeping. He seemed pleasantly calmed by the presence one person at his side - even if he would be caught dead before admitting it to anyone - but he didn't seem entirely comfortable with the idea either. There were still walls and boundaries standing erect in place. He seemed alright, but he also seemed like he was at one of the worst places in his life. Everything about the Austrian in that moment was so contradicting in a way that was simultaneously understandable and incredibly confusing.

And maybe because it was one of those nights when pushing boundaries seemed more acceptable, Prussia began to methodically rub a little above the small of the younger man's back with his hand already resting there, letting the fingers of the opposite hand slow to a halt midway through a series of locks to rest out of commission for the time being. His fingers flew across the light fabric which coated the skin in obscure patterns which he was certain he would never remember again, but was able to repeat consistently in that moment. After all, consistency was a habit which one would usually pick up on after being enrolled in the military for more than half of a millennia. There was something he was quietly humming in the back of his throat, but he doubted his ability to name whatever it was, even if he had an eternity to do so. It was something Austria liked playing, which didn't really narrow it down, but it might have been Mozart, which seemed appropriate. As far as he could remember, Mozart wasn't Austria's favorite composer, but he appeared to find it soothing to hear something familiar. He was also pretty sure that he was going back and forth between multiple compositions which he wasn't sure were even by the same person in a way which wouldn't make any kind of sense to anyone who actually knew anything about music, but Austria's posture softened and he seemed relaxed by it, so Prussia kept going.

In the beginning, it was straining to keep it going. The acts of humming and gentle massaging were not in themselves difficult, but he could feel reticent eyes peering into his skin. They watched him, waiting and focused, and he couldn't tell what their owner had on his mind, which made him so eager to do what was more comfortable and flee the room altogether. He didn't, despite the pounding urge in most corners of his mind, and the next time he checked on the pianist, deciphering eyes had been hidden away behind lazy lids.

Truthfully, it was the most relieving sight he'd seen all day. He kept up whatever incoherent mash of random snippets of compositions he was humming for a while, but Austria must have been tired because he fell asleep sooner than Prussia had expected him to. Much sooner, actually. It would have felt out of place, were it not for the reminder that it was easier to fall asleep after a loss of blood. Fortunately, Austria was a nation, so something blood loss, as horrifying as that concept was on its own considering the circumstances, could not even come remotely close to dealing any real damage. The only damage it would really do was in how much it made others worry. Besides, Austria needed his sleep after all of this, and plenty of it. So, for the meantime, Prussia was just relieved to see that a calmer expression had planted itself on the pianist's face.

One that didn't intend to cut itself with a knife.

One which was the person he had come to know — lazy and carefree, but so held together.

One that was safe.

One who didn't have to live in a world where Prussia was clutching him so desperately because he'd never had to be faced with the possibility of him really _dying_ before, and now he couldn't be sure that Austria wouldn't wake up a corpse the very second he let go.

He thought to himself without satisfaction that he had been right in describing this as Weltschmerz. For the same reason which Austria probably opposed it being used, it was perfect. _Sentimental pessimism or melancholy over the state of the world_ , it was supposed to mean. Either Austria was the world and it made him sentimentally melancholy to see him in this state or it broke his heart seeing that the world was in such a state that it could let something like this happen. To be fair, both were equally true, so it didn't especially matter how Austria interpreted it. The only real difference was that it broke his heart to see the pianist like that, but it more infuriated him beyond measure to see the world which had done that to him. But he didn't want to focus on the fury for the next few hours. Instead, he only wanted to hold Austria close and sleep soundly through the night. So, he let himself fall into a state of enough relaxation for sleep to coax his eyelids shut. At the very least, the both of them would be alive when the sun rose in the morning.

Like it or not, he was going to make sure that the both of them lived to see the end of this.

 **Translations:**

 **Dummkopf - General term for a stupid person**

 **Mist - Crap**

 **Ja - Yes**

 **Weltschmerz -** **Sentimental pessimism or melancholy over the state of the world; no direct English translation**

 **Mutti - Mom**

 **A/N**

 **hAhahahAHAHa, I laugh but I cry. I hope you sort of had fun with this one? It's three times the length of my normal standard for chapters (5,000 words), so hopefully, that makes up for the time it took to get this thing done? I spent a long time contemplating whether or not I should move the rating of the story up because of this chapter (and because I graphically mention WW2 a lot), and I decided that I'm better safe than sorry. Anyway, it's a roller coaster from here on out, so please try and refrain from hating me; Y'all knew this was coming from the (admittedly poorly written) prologue and the tags. Whelp, hope you have a good day! Thanks for reading my weird, depressing crap!**

 **~Aleberle**


	11. Chapter 10

**Hey, guys. Before we go ahead and get started, I want to say a few things. First of all, I know that I've been gone for a really long time and I'm sorry about that. School got me busy and there were times when I could have gotten this published, but my editor (my sister) is in high school and had all of her finals and AP tests and the prep for those around the same time I was swamped with work and until the end of the year. Just because I feel like complaining about this, I'll add that one of my teachers made me write a 100 paragraph autobiography. I had a while to write it, but twenty plus pages about some fight with my mom five years ago or what I learned from a trip to the beach wasn't exactly my favorite writing project. Gee, middle school is (was, finally, as I'll be in my freshman year of high school this year) fun. And then I was really having a hard time writing this summer. I don't know why, I just had such a bad case of writer's block. My editor was also too busy to get to looking over this for over a month and that took away some time from it (don't worry nameless sister, your efforts are greatly appreciated). But that leads me to my second point. All the time when I knew I wasn't updating and I felt bad and like everyone was going to be really mad at me, you guys kept showing your support for me by reading, favoriting/giving kudos (this is on both and AO3, so whichever one applies), following this story, and even reviewing, and I love you all so much for that. Do you have any idea how much that makes my whole year? Probably not, because I am alienlike in how I gleefully soak up any and all nice things said to me like a sponge on drugs. Thank you so much for sticking with me and being so supportive. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Anyway, not much German in this chapter, but what little there is can be found in the translations at the bottom. I hope you enjoy and can hopefully forgive how late this is!**

* * *

The morning wind bit like a dog, scratching at Prussia's face and leaving a frigid burn on the skin of his face. If he wasn't so meticulous, he would have thought he had left a window open. Had he? No, he definitely hadn't. His natural inclination was to wrap the blanket tighter around him, but the better source of warmth was wrapped up in his arms, so he just pulled that closer instead. It was comforting in the early hours of the morning to have something to nuzzle into for protection before he had to get up. A satisfied hum rose up in his throat like a cat purring, and a soft, tired smile spread onto his lips. This was a wonderful beginning to the morning.

He eased his eyes open under the warm greeting of the sunlight pouring in through the windows. If it couldn't actually be warm, at least it was bright out. Since he'd been put into premature retirement, that was something he could appreciate about Vienna. It was all pretty leisurely. Vienna. Oh, yeah. He was in Vienna. That's why he was in this old bed, snuggling close to . . . to . . .

. . . to Austria.

 _Austria_. _Who was asleep in his arms._

 _What the hell?_

Miraculously, he didn't shoot up in bed, and only jolted a little. Oh, no. Someone needed to _please_ tell him that they hadn't done anything. How much had he had to drink? Where were his- alright, his clothes were definitely still on. Er, pajamas, actually. Wait, if he was wearing pajamas, then he'd come to bed to sleep, and not . . . anything else. But that still left the question to be begged _of what he was doing in Austria's_ bed _._ That just- didn't make any sense! Austria was supposed to be off in his own fancy bed and probably off dreaming about the piano and not in bed with him, of all people, and looking so . . . completely content. Like he'd never seen him look before. Come to think of it, he didn't think he'd ever seen Austria at such ease, and seeing it now was a little relaxing.

With his eyes so faintly fallen shut on a head which drooped lazily on a plush pillow, Austria looked a little like a sleeping kitten. He was semi-curled up against Prussia's chest, with the only distance between them being where his fragile hands curled in on themselves and separated their chests. This distance wasn't known to his face, however, which was buried snugly into Prussia. For that reason, every soft breath was familiar to Prussia, whether that was gentle exhales which tickled his skin through his shirt or how Austria's back pushed the hand resting on it back with it with every breath in. It was a little cute.

As soon as the words came into his mind, Prussia grimaced at his own thoughts. But no matter how much Austria being distracting nearly put it past him, there was still something in the back of his mind bothering him. This was an incomplete picture. He wouldn't just be _sharing a bed_ and _cuddling with Austria_ out of the blue. There had to be a reason why he was here, and that was-

Oh, _right._ The medication and then-

The memory nearly jolted him out of bed. _Shoot._ Austria was there and he looked fine enough, but where were-? There. His left wrist was still bandaged up tight.

 _The cutting._ _That happened._ And Austria was here, in his bed, because of it. Never mind, good morning ruined. Oh, no. Oh, _crap._ Was he- was he okay? Was he going to be okay? What was going to happen when he woke up? How was Prussia ever even going to face him after _that_?

He couldn't come up with answers for any of those questions, nor could he think of anything else to do besides lie there and worry. Luckily, it wasn't long before Austria began shifting in his arms and fluttered his eyes halfway open. He looked blissful at first, perfectly in peace in the passageway between sleep consciousness. Until his eyes flickered all the way open and the presence of another person with him triggered a visible wave of disorder.

"Hey," Greeted Prussia belatedly. In return, he got Austria's face scrunched up in confusion and his eyes expeditiously flickering about the both of them. Probably wondering just about the same questions which Prussia had. And, just like Prussia, mortification began molding his expression as soon as the inevitable possibility came to mind.

" _Please_ , tell me we didn't-" Austria grimaced. He cut himself off. But even without the horrified eye flickering around the both of them, Prussia knew exactly what he meant.

"Don't get so excited, Priss, I didn't sleep with you."

"Oh, _thank goodness._ " Austria breathed in relief, and, for once, Prussia completely shared the sentiment. But it wasn't long before Austria's alleviation dissolved back into suspicious confusion. He raised an eyebrow in a silent demand for an explanation before giving voice to one of many elephants in the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping in my room, duh,"

"And what am _I_ doing here?"

"You got me worried about you and now you're sleeping in my room with me because I'm awesome enough to protect you from yourself for the night,"

"Oh," Realization dawned on Austria's face. His eyes flickered down to his wrists, and he grimaced. before pulling back to the only other person in the room. He knew what he'd done now. He knew _full well_. " _Oh._ "

"Yeah, _oh,_ " Prussia scoffed. "You scared the crap out of me and you've got ' _oh_ ' to say for it."

"Are you angry with me?"

"I'm not mad at _you_ , just . . . I don't know, you scared the hell out of me."

"That's unnecessary."

"Easy for you to say."

"Oh, don't tell me I really scared you." Austria snorted, rolling his eyes dismissively. Prussia's blood froze. Did Austria really not think that he was concerned for him? Evidently, he at least didn't think there were sufficient grounds for worry. How could he not? Austria still knew that Prussia cared about him, didn't he?

"Well, _ja_ ," Prussia insisted, all firmness and no mirth. Now was _not the time_ for joking. Now was the time for laying down the law. "Ja, you did."

In apparent surprise, Austria blinked his widened eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it. From there, he had no comeback other than to look on blankly. It struck Prussia as both sympathetic and frustrating at the same time.

"Hey, it's not _that_ surprising," Prussia grumbled over a huff from the back of his throat. Based on his expression, Austria wholly disagreed. "Keep your promise this time. I told you I'm here for you, so quit ignoring me."

"Stupid."

"Hey, I'm looking for a yes or a no here."

Nothing. Austria's eyes flickered away. Already, Prussia could feel the rush of his own stubborn streak. So this was going to be one of _those_ days.

"You know what?" Prussia asked decidedly. But he wasn't about to wait for an answer before he clarified. "I changed my mind. No choice. Come to me first, no matter what. Okay?"

Seeing Austria nod relieved his frustration, but he didn't have anything else to say, so Prussia just nodded back.

"I don't know about you, but I think I'm gonna go see if West's up and making me breakfast yet." Prussia announced.

"Is he _still_ here?" Austria groaned, an impressively undelighted grimace taking over his face.

"Hey, my little bruder is awesome!"

"Isn't having one of you here enough?"

"He's here to help."

" _Wonderful._ "

"That's the attitude."

Clearly unsatisfied, Austria rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Priss. Up and at 'em. I'll change your bandages for you."

"I don't need you to do that."  
"Yeah, well, I'm going to do it anyway."

"I thought you wanted to go downstairs for breakfast."

"Ja, I do, which is why you need to hurry up and let me look at those cuts so I can get downstairs and get something to eat."

"You can just go downstairs without smothering me."

"Suck it, I don't want to. Come on. You're supposed to change bandages once a day."

"Fine."

As Prussia untangled himself and sat up in bed, it dawned on him exactly how long he had still been holding Austria in his arms. And Austria must have been realizing the same thing at about that same time, by the startled look on his face. It would have been funny if it wasn't embarrassing and his face wasn't starting to get twice as red as it should have been. Instead, he just wanted to get up and out of bed before either of them had enough time to really think about what any of that had meant.

With minimal effort, he hauled himself up and out of bed. For once, he didn't know what time it was and he didn't feel like checking. All he wanted to do was get up and get this over with. Austria didn't seem all that enthusiastic, but he limited his complaints about not being dressed to a minimum and got up not long after Prussia.

Prussia figured Austria would just follow him. With someone else as a guide, even someone with that awful of a sense of direction could make it to his own bathroom. After all, they were both grown men and it wasn't exactly hard. So, he went ahead across the room and out the door, Austria close behind all the way down the hall. As soon as they shuffled inside the bathroom, Prussia gestured for Austria to sit down on the floor, and as soon as the door was shut, the pristine musician begrudgingly lowered himself down onto the tiles. leaving Prussia to find what he was looking for.

Alright, the first aid kit was somewhere down below, he remembered that, but that wasn't what he wanted first and foremost. On the contrary, he pried open the criminally crowded medicine cabinet hanging on the wall above the sink. Shelf near the bottom, towards the back. That was where those little things were.

"That's not where the bandages are," Austria reminded him, probably wondering what Prussia was on that made him unable to remember that the first aid kit supplies had been kept underneath the sink for about as long as he'd owned it.

"I know what I'm doing, Prinzessin."

There. The bright container was sitting behind some unlabeled bottle which was probably full of some sort of hair product. Fast as he could, he snatched it up, looked it over to make sure it was the right one, and plunked it down on the floor by Austria's knee once he was sure that it was.

"Here." He grumbled.

"I- I'm sorry?" Stammered Austria, looking more like a deer in the headlights than Prussia had ever seen him. Clearly, he knew what it was very well, but he must not have thought Prussia would. He looked at the label, like he had to make sure he had seen it correctly, and then looked back, bewilderment written all over his features.

"Here. Take your meds."

"How did you-"

"What, you think I don't know?" The question was purely rhetorical, but the look on Austria's face clearly answered for him. "Roddy, I _know_ you're on antidepressants. They're not that hard to find."

"How long have you-?"

"I don't know, a few weeks?"

"You went through my belongings without my permission?"

"Ja, I look through this place all the time. Not that I go through your room or whatever, I just kinda look around the house. There isn't anything else to do here and I get bored."

"Is that why you started acting so strangely?"

"Hey, give me a break - I'm not used to worrying about you!"

Austria blinked like he'd been caught off guard. But when he spoke, he did so with an underlying tone of dry humor which Prussia was much more used to. "Worrying about me? _You?_ "

"Shut up." Prussia bit back. With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to the sink and pretended he wasn't at least a little embarrassed by exactly how much worrying about Austria he'd been doing. "Take the meds and I'll start with the bandage."

"Such a gentleman." Austria chided, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. But he still gingerly took the case from Prussia and settled a debate which they must have had at some point in their lives by proving then and there that he was more than capable of downing pills without any water to help him. But Prussia couldn't have cared less about that in the moment. Actually, he hadn't paying much mind to what Austria was doing in that moment at all. Instead, he'd taken the time to find where he'd last put the first aid kit.

It wasn't difficult, considering that he'd only had it out the night before and shoved it hastily towards the front of a drawer below the sink. And as soon as he got his hands on it, he tore it open and got to work. Efficiency was admirable, as he'd always been taught. What wasn't so positive was that getting this done would mean that he would have to brave looking at those repulsive _things_ which he hated so much again. He didn't want to think about them, let alone look at them! They shouldn't have ever existed in the first place, and the fact that Austria _deliberately_ carved them just made his stomach boil with an intense mixture of worry and anger which he immediately decided he hated. Just to think that Austria, whom he ultimately trusted more than anyone else in the world, could do that, could even _think_ of doing that . . . it was absolutely unthinkable.

He tried to hide a grimace as the thought. Maybe it'd be better to just not think about it for the time being. Just take Austria's wrist, unwrap the bandages, and try not to think about where those cuts came from. Normal wounds were fine; he'd seen a myriad of those in his lifetime. It was just these ones. Only, it wasn't that easy. As soon as the old bandage was off and he laid his eyes on them, he felt sick. Really, the only things he could stand about them were that they weren't infected and looked like they were on the right track to healing properly. In short, he just liked that they could go away.

"Have you even been taking these?" Prussia asked suspiciously as he started on covering the wounds back up with a fresh bandage. At least partially to take his mind off of what he was looking at. Crimson eyes flashed back up at the musician. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to that question, but he also wasn't going to accept not getting it. Out of nowhere, he was getting a very bad feeling about this.

"Well, no." Austria admitted sheepishly. "I suppose I haven't exactly . . ."  
"What? Roddy, that's really stupid! Didn't you get prescribed them for a reason?"

Austria's only answer was the light flush which burst onto his face.

"Never mind." Prussia huffed. "When was the last time you took them?"

"I think it was . . . about a week ago."

"A _week?_ Are you _serious?"_

Apparently, if the embarrassment radiating off of Austria was any indication, he was _very_ serious.

"Aren't you supposed to be taking those about once or twice _every_ _day?"_ Prussia pressed, more than a little unsure in the moment of whether it was harder to believe that he'd gone so long without knowing the Austrian needed them or that he was actually stupid enough to go cold turkey out of nowhere. Honestly, what had he been _thinking_ , doing that to himself? Hesitantly, Austria nodded. "And you just thought- _Roddy!"_

"I thought I could handle it." Austria countered quietly, a shade of embarrassment darkening his face.

"I don't know where you learned about medicine, but you don't just _stop_ taking medication like that. Especially when you need that stuff the way you do."

"I'm not that dependent on it."

"Yeah, sure," Prussia muttered under his breath, sarcasm coating his throat like thick syrup. The end of the bandage was secured to the rest with tape well enough that it seemed like it would stay. That should do it. No more seeing those until tomorrow. And then, louder and firmer, he added: "Don't do that again. I'm not gonna think you're weak or whatever."

"I'm not going to take those anymore." Austria insisted. Right on cue, Prussia's head snapped up in obvious disbelief.

"What? No, Roddy, you're getting back on these. Don't be stupid."

"Why should I bother when they don't work?"  
"They don't work?" Prussia repeated, a little dazed. So much of his focus had been set on getting a simple solution to this that he hadn't considered that one of his first sources of help might not work.

"No, the awful things never have." Austria spat.

"Then why'd you keep taking them? You _just_ took them and _now_ you're refusing to take them because they don't work. What gives?"

"It was stupid, but I suppose I kept hoping they would, or at least that whatever they were doing to me was better than what I would be doing otherwise. As long as I had myself convinced that those were what it would take to control myself, I kept blindly taking them. But half the time, they make me want to . . . revert into bad habits, more so than usual, and even when they don't, they give me migraines and keep me up all night, and I'm almost entire certain it's the fault of those disgusting things that I'm never able to eat anymore. I wouldn't have taken them just now, but considering how I . . . _how I was_ last night, I don't think I want to take my chances. It's better to be sick than out of control."

"That . . . sounds super unhealthy." Prussia mused, a frown dawning on his face. "Who prescribed these to you?"

"The doctor my president assigned me to. Moritz Au, I believe."

"Tell him they're not working and get on something else which works. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Again, Austria wouldn't, or _couldn't_ , say anything on the spot. He just kept staring off, an unreadable expression on his face. "I told you I'm fine, Gilbert."

"And I'm telling you you're _not fine_." Prussia insisted. Then his expression morphed into a questioning one, but one with an underlying tone of concern. "You know you're allowed to not be okay, right?"

Austria hesitated. Something in his face looked broken for a second. So taken aback and caught off guard, but so sad and _tired_ like Prussia hadn't ever seen before, his eyes so worn down by age. Maybe that was the first time he'd ever heard that. Had he always worn such exhausted eyes? Prussia wasn't sure if he'd ever paid much attention to it, but the more he looked back on it, the more certain he became that such a look had been around for a long time now. Then Austria looked down, but his eyes looked too much like they were the only part of him that aged for every year he'd been alive.

"Roddy, I know you're not okay right now." Prussia stated firmly. "If you were okay, you wouldn't have cut yourself up last night and there's no way you're okay the _morning after_ going through with that. I don't know why you're not or what made you not, but you're not. And that's . . . that's hard, but it's, you know . . . It's fine. And you can say that you're not fine right now, too, or whenever you feel like it. I'm not gonna get mad or some crap."

The musician swallowed, but held his tongue. By now, the tension in the air was so thick that Prussia could feel it crawling down his neck. To be fair, yes, he had known that Austria was pretty impressively stunted when it came to emotions and especially being emotionally vulnerable, but this was getting ridiculous.

"I'm sorry." Austria muttered, and Prussia would have felt relieved just to hear him talking again if he wasn't driving himself mad with worry.

"Don't be."

"I've never seen you worry like that."

"I don't think I've ever been that worried around you, so that's probably where you got that idea from." Austria opened his mouth in what Prussia instinctively knew was an apology. His blood boiled a little. What was with all the apologizing? Given, that hadn't been the smartest thing Austria had ever done, but the circumstances were iffy, to say the least. Of course he rushed to cut the musician off before he could get a word out. "Hey, don't apologize. No being sorry about this."

A strange look crossed Austria's face as his mouth flew shut. For the life of him, Prussia couldn't tell what it was supposed to mean, but it made him uneasy. Just something about it. "You said you would be angry with me if I did it again."

"I'm not angry, Roddy. I-" Prussia sighed. "Look, I didn't mean that. I just wanted to keep you safe. I still want that."

"You seemed angry earlier."

"That's just how I handle stuff. Y'know. West works more, you . . . used to play the piano, I get like that."

"I still play the piano."

"To deal with crap?"

Cringing just a bit from Prussia's less than elegant phrasing, Austria nodded.

"Then how come you were . . . you know?"

Still, quiet. Tense, waiting quiet. After some time, Austria let out a drained sigh and dropped his head into his hands. Right on cue, Prussia sprung up, now very alert. Was this it? Was this the moment when Austria was going to break open and explain it all or finally let his walls down and let everything out? Was he . . . was he going to cry? That could be for the best, but he still wasn't sure he was prepared for that.

But Austria didn't cry. He didn't break down or make a big confession or anything of the sort. Instead, he muttered, with a kind of exhaustion that Prussia had never heard from him, a few words: "I don't know how to tell you."

"Can you find somewhere to start?"

"I don't know." Austria sighed, his words dripping from his tongue like tar, slow and hushed and devoid of any real emotion except exhaustion. "I'm so tired. Of this. Of feeling awful. Of being . . . Of everything. I suppose there's no good way to put it, I'm just . . . "

"Tired?" Prussia suggested, and watched as Austria nodded in reply. He slid his hand down Austria's forearm, running over fresh bandages and onto soft skin which decorated an arm which got gradually thinner as it neared the wrist. Warmth radiated off of the skin poking out from bandages. Admittedly, he found it comforting that it wasn't icy like it could have been if the day before had gone too far, but he couldn't bring himself to linger on the idea. He'd seen millions of people die before, in the battlefield and in their beds, but that- that was too painful to think about. A calloused hand made its way down still until he could take a more fragile hand in his own. His thumb rubbed the back of Austria's hand for a bit, then he squeezed it comfortingly and managed to talk again. "I know."

Slowly, stiffly, Austria nodded. He kept staring at the floor, unmoving and his expression unchanging. His slender fingers curled tightly around Prussia's hand, squeezing it like it was his last lifeline. Readily, Prussia squeezed back. He still couldn't even get Austria to look at him, but at least he had this. He'd made it this far, and he could make it a little further. Just enough to get let in past all the walls. The first was down, so what would it take to get through the rest? To get the complete answer he felt strangely sure that there was? Part of him felt like he should pull the musician into a hug, but he couldn't quite bring himself to. He just sat there on the icy bathroom tiles, holding Austria's hand.

A couple of minutes passed before he decided he could start heading downstairs. As much as he realized the importance of being there, he also knew that neither of them were going to say anything more productive than what had already had been said and they both needed to eat. _Both_ of them.

"I'm gonna go downstairs and get something to eat." Then, he paused. "You get something to eat soon, too. Not just a cup of coffee, real food."

"I can do that without you reminding me, thank you." Austria insisted. For the first time in too long, he looked up at the man beside him. He didn't look any less tired, but there was a promise in his eyes. He'd do it. It wasn't much, but even having Austria look at him with anything sincere made a smile effortlessly slip onto Prussia's face. He squeezed his hand one more time, then let go of the musician.

"Sure, Prinzessin." Prussia agreed as he rose to his feet. "I'll see you downstairs."

* * *

Breakfast was already prepared by the time Prussia made it down the stairs. Piled neatly on each of three plates was a small bowl beside a plush pretzel. Already, he could guess that the bowl was filled with Weisswurst and the water they always sat in from the smell and, well, what else would Germany serve for breakfast in a bowl with a pretzel? Not his favorite by any means, but he definitely wasn't complaining. Homemade German cooking was something he hadn't had in far too long.

"Hey, West," Prussia called to his younger brother, who repeated the greeting without looking away from the cabinet of mugs he was looking through. "What's up with the Bavarian stuff?"

Germany tensed. Quietly, sadly, he admitted the truth. ". . . I was hoping it would make Roderich feel like eating something."

"Oh." Prussia said. "If it makes you feel any better, he promised me he'd eat today."

Germany's head snapped back, eyes brimming with a fire of newfound worry so intense that Prussia might have flinched if he didn't know any better. "He hasn't been eating?"

"Not like he's not eating _anything_ , but he keeps going on these weird eating schedules where sometimes he eats like a normal person and then he'll try to tell me that he can make a full meal out of some coffee and it's-" Prussia cut himself off with a sigh. "It's a mess. He said it's because of some meds he's been taking, so I guess that makes it a little better."

"I should be less worried since it's just medication, but . . . _still._ They're not diet pills, are they?"

"What? No, they're . . . antidepressants."

"Oh, good." Germany sighed in relief. "He's too thin as it is."

"Good?" Prussia repeated, face riddled with confusion. He'd expected Germany to blow a casket or look completely floored or at least look somewhat upset. If anything, relief was not what he had expected to get from his younger brother. "You mean you're not upset that he's taking antidepressants?"

"I don't think those are the problem here." The intent with which Germany spoke struck his elder brother into silence. More than anything else, Prussia knew he was right.

"Yeah, guess not." Prussia mumbled. Without anything else he could say, he took a seat at the table and dug in. As always, Germany really was better at cooking than he was made out to be. Even if it was more of something that Bavaria would have enjoyed before he died. Little as he liked to admit it, he supposed all of Germany's brothers had an influence on him. Halfway through Prussia's second sausage, feet pattered across the floor and his younger brother pulled up a chair across from him.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you last night," Germany confessed. "I shouldn't have lost control like that."

"Nah, it's okay," Prussia assured him with a shrug. "I get it. We were all a little messed up last night."

"Was he alright? After I left?"

Prussia hummed anxiously. _Alright_ was not the word he'd use. Try _angry_ , _closed off_ , and _miserable_ for better accuracy _._ He assumed it was safe to say that Austria wasn't alright in general, but the aristocrat was so good at hiding stuff from him, emotional stuff more than anything else, that it was anyone's guess. He hadn't gotten any more hurt than he'd already been, so that was probably something. Either way, Germany looked expectantly at his brother because he wanted a better answer than that, so Prussia sighed, put down the pretzel he had just torn a chunk out of, and came up with a real answer to give him. "I mean, he wasn't having any massive breakdowns or anything."

"Maybe that's worse than if he did." Germany mused distantly. Prussia's attention peaked in a simultaneous burst of curiosity and unease. He frowned, not sure he wanted to hear what his younger brother was about to say.

"What do you mean?"

"He's an old aristocrat. He probably grew up being taught that being inhuman was the only way to be a proper person."

"Yeah, of course he did. Everyone grew up on the idea of being strong back then."

"But it was different for you. You could be however you wanted as long as you got the job done, but he was probably taught that the best way to deal with emotions was to repress them and wait for them to go away."

"Since when are you a psychiatrist or whatever?"  
"I read a lot of older literature."

"So?"  
"So, there are patterns in how the rich were brought up back then. I wouldn't be surprised if he has _centuries_ of baggage which he never dealt with because he was taught he wasn't supposed to."

Neither of them had much to say for a while after that, they just had to let the words sink in. As much as Prussia wanted to argue, he knew his younger brother wasn't wrong. It was all true. Tease him as he did for being such a priss, Prussia did know that beneath the glamour of the riches and elegance of high society, something had to be wrong with that upperclass society's methods if it had those old ideas about being a gentleman, being a _man_ , and the rapid perfectionism that came with that so deeply instilled in Austria from so young. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that he should have known something was wrong much sooner.

And even if neither one of them wanted to say it, they both knew what the implication was: all this time _, he needed them_ and _they missed it._

"Yeah, and?" Prussia forced out at last. Germany served him a meaningful look, like he was finally saying something that he'd meant to say a long time ago.

"You can't help him all on your own."

"Yeah, I thought that's why you're here."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Well, what else do you think we can do for him? Send him to a therapist? He's a _country_ , West. He's been alive for a thousand years. There isn't a therapist alive who's qualified to try and work through everything he's been through."

"That does make a sickening amount of sense. I can't imagine the heart attack we'd give to whichever poor person was chosen to hear someone like me ask about how to deal with the guilt of the murder of tens of millions or the issues of immortality."

"Even if it wasn't like that, he wouldn't talk to anyone you gave him. Trust me, I've known him for over a thousand years. He won't talk to anyone he isn't comfortable with, and it takes him _centuries_ to warm up to anyone at all,"

"We have to _try_ , Gilbert." Germany pressed. Something about the look on his face combined with the urgency in his voice kept Prussia quiet. The elder quickly found himself looking away. But when he looked back up at his younger brother, he could see the wheel's turning in Germany's head, an idea forming in his eyes. Curious, Prussia cocked his head and tossed his brother a questioning look. "Actually, contact his boss- er, _I'll_ contact his boss. I won't explain very much of the situation, but I can explain that we're interested in having Roderich speak to something of a therapist, and I'm sure Mr. Van der Bellen would be happy to contact someone qualified."

"You think they can actually get someone he'll talk to?"

"Let's hope so. If absolutely nothing else, he could confide in Van der Bellen. I'm sure he's been given at least _some_ training for something like this."

"Yeah, I think we'll need a lot of hope for that."

"I know you aren't incredibly excited about it, but how closed off he is could be a sign that he really needs this."

"It doesn't work for everyone."  
"But we can't say it doesn't work for him if we don't let him try. But he definitely won't make this any easier, you're right about that."

"Of course I'm right. I always am."

"Of course." Germany repeated with a shake of his head. "And how are _you_?"

"Fine. Awesome." Prussia insisted harshly.

"Gilbert." Germany reprimanded, an almost concerned look on his face.

"I'm _great_ , just- _ugh_." Prussia snapped. "I'm just really _freaked out._ "

"You can get angry."

"I just can't believe it; all this time, and I had _no idea!_ I mean, no one just _does that_ , so I obviously missed something, or a . . . lot of things, but I thought I knew him well enough to . . . I don't know. To know. Or at least have some idea. But . . . I didn't have any idea _at all_ until all of this. It took him cutting at his own wrists with a kitchen knife before I could figure out that anything was wrong!"

"We lived with him for years and I was almost half raised by him. I don't know how he hid it from us so well." Germany sighed. He took a breath, but there was still apprehension in his eyes when he asked the question. "Do you know how long this has been going on?"

"Since the forties or fifties, he said."

" _The forties or fifties."_ Germany repeated breathlessly. "It's been that long?"

"Yeah. I'm just glad nothing happened while I was behind the Wall."

"With both you and Eliza with Ivan and him kept away from us all by order of the Allies, he would have been _all alone_."

"Ja, and he mentioned having another episode back in 1788."

"1788? What was he doing in 1788?"

"I don't know. He was at war with Turkey, I think."

"I might look into that."

"If that'll make you feel better, go for it. I don't even know what I'm mad at. I just . . ." Prussia trailed off, throwing his gaze down at the floor. Germany's eyes widened. Just then, his elder brother's face scrunched up in hurt and worry like he'd never seen before. Looking at his brother in that moment, it dawned on Gernany exactly how much it upset the Prussian to see Austria hurting. He couldn't think why he didn't think about that before, but he couldn't look at the sudden vulnerability in normally stubborn eyes and see anything but. When Prussia spoke again, it was much quieter and sounded almost . . . defeated. "I hate this."

"I know. So do I." Germany promised, sotto voce. Resisting the urge to put a hand on his brother's shoulder was harder than he expected, but he couldn't be sure whether that was something that he should do or not. After a long time, he added: "But we can't do anything about what's already happened, so we might as well make the best of it and be there for him."

"Guess so." Prussia muttered.

"Would you mind if I spoke with him for a minute when he gets down here?" Germany asked tentatively after a minute or so of unhappy silence. Judging by the way Prussia looked at his younger brother, he was evidently not impressed that this was a question which the German felt had to be asked. Germany waited for a second, then added on a word of clarification. "Privately?"

Prussia rose an eyebrow in suspicion, a questioning look coming over his face, but, right on cue, the familiar call of the piano flooded the house from upstairs, interrupting whatever questions or objections he was thinking about making. "Yeah, I think that's my call to go get him."

"Oh, uh, one last thing." Prussia added. Germany looked up from his coffee, making a noise to urge him to continue. "So, I know he takes meds for this stuff. It's called Wellbutrin, I think, but he says they're not working for him. Van der Bellen works with his doctor who gave him the stuff in the first place, so if you could bring that up or get his doctor on the line when you call to get him on something else . . . ?"

"Ja, of course." Germany agreed hastily. "Danke. It's Doctor . . . ?"

"I don't know, something Au. Mathias? Moritz? I think it was Moritz. Van der Bellen probably knows, so try and ask him."

Germany nodded, giving Prussia all the permission which he needed to go. He headed over to the rickety staircase, but he stopped to take a deep breath before going up. Out of nowhere, his throat felt tight, which was ridiculous. He was only going to see Austria. Austria, who he'd known for almost his entire life. Austria, who he'd practically made a habit of seeing on a daily basis. Austria, who'd fought more battles with him than he cared to count. Austria . . . who cut himself with knives and never said anything about it. Austria, who'd desperately needed help for decades, centuries, even, and never felt like he could come to anyone else with anything. Austria, who he had no idea what to say to.

This was going to be fun.

Prussia hadn't even fully realized this could _happen_. Just like everyone else, he'd heard stories, but when it was Japan or Ukraine or someone else, it was . . . not quite _expected_ , but it wasn't coming as a huge shock to anyone. But Austria wasn't like that. Austria was like Prussia. He had the pride of an empire and enough devotion to his country that he could, and had, fight a war for the sheer sake of defending his honor. He didn't bother with those kinds of things. He was composed and stubborn and never let anyone see him fall apart or believe that he ever did. Was all of that a mask, like Germany urged him to believe, of security for burying pain away in secret? The possibility had never even come into his mind. Or anyone's mind, for that matter. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Not the time to dwell on that, he decided, and forced himself up the old staircase, the sound of what must have been Mozart growing ever louder. Prussia could at least tell that it wasn't any of the German greats, and one of few things he'd learned about the Austrian that went a little below the surface was that he went back to Mozart when he didn't know where else to go. Yet the closer he got to the top of the stairs, and even once he was standing in the doorway, something felt off. Austria didn't look lost or upset at all, not a bit different from how he always looked.

It was strangely surreal, and Prussia just couldn't understand it. How could Austria have been cutting the night before and now look so calm playing the piano? Wasn't he still upset about all of that? He had to be. If Prussia still was, Austria had to be. But he looked just like he did every other day. A little frustrated, a little serene, very concentrated. Like he was melting into every chord. As though there wasn't a trouble in his world. It should have been nice, but something about it didn't set right with Prussia. There wasn't anything wrong with it, really. No, nothing at all. He was just playing the piano contently.

But . . . still, Prussia couldn't help but wonder why none of this was getting to Austria. He'd just gone through a pretty bad episode, so something had clearly upset him. He clearly had been feeling far from fine. But why wasn't he acting like it bothered him? Even yesterday, the emotion he'd shown about it mostly ranged from embarrassment to discomfort with touches of something apologetic and a shadow of upset. Wasn't there supposed to be more than that? Crying or pouring everything out or reaching out for comfort or something else of the like? Everything Austria _wasn't_ doing? Yes, he wanted him to be happy whenever he could be, but it felt tense. Artificial. He just seemed a little too put together for it to be real. Granted, he wasn't _the most_ put together that he'd ever been, but he wasn't exactly having a moment, either. Wasn't that unhealthy?

There wasn't anything he could do about it, so he just sat back and watched. The music didn't didn't sound upset either. Sure, Austria hadn't seemed super happy in the last century, but he never had. Not since his falling out with Switzerland, or maybe even a little after. Apparently it just hadn't been enough of an occasion to bring up, or even give much thought to. He'd just started assuming that was how Austria was. He'd changed a bit in recent years, but they all had. Maybe he'd just thought the both of them had changed while the Berlin Wall was up or that war changed people. Why hadn't any of this ever seemed important? Maybe this had been going on even longer than Austria said it had been and he'd always felt like that, only no one had bothered to look closely enough to notice.

Prussia shook his head. It wasn't time to think about all that. Whatever Germany wanted to say needed to be said and that meant getting Austria downstairs to hear it, not worrying more compulsively than he already was.

"Hey, Prinzessin," He called. Notes hung where they had been floating through the air, silenced. "What're you doing? Don't you want to get anything to eat?"

"Of course I do," Austria affirmed. "I just had to practice first."

Prussia forced a snort out at the strange order of the Austrian's priorities, but it was half hearted. The both of them were tense and tired and it was starting to wear on them. If he were to guess, he would have to say that Austria was probably about as unsure and uncomfortable as he was. Unable to do much else, he turned to leave, but a sudden recollection held him in place.

"Uh, just so you know, West's gonna be calling your boss to see if he can get your doctor to prescribe a new medication for you." At this, Austria nodded, not giving any serious hints as to how he felt about that. Prussia took that as an invitation to continue. "And we were thinking about getting you into therapy."

There came a very long pause after that. Austria didn't say anything, didn't change his expression, but just stared silently for a minute. "Alright."

"You're okay with that?"

"I suppose so, if that's what must be done."

"Oh, uh . . . okay. And West said he wants to talk to you downstairs."

"In that case, I had best go and hear what it is that he has to say." Austria equivocated, then rose, closed the piano's lid cleanly, and left the room for the stairs.

* * *

Treading down a staircase which led to a man you hadn't seen since he'd found you cutting was a dangerous task. Every step could potentially alert Germany, and that could be a very disadvantageous risk. As plain and unshaken as he had acted earlier, Austria couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than having this conversation. Best to get it over with and never have to do it again, but just because he was going to do it didn't mean that he had to like it in the least.

"Guten Morgen, Ludwig."

Fast as could be, Germany's head jerked around. Seems he hadn't heard Austria coming after all. More than that, last night seemed to have him on edge. He looked startled, then it melted into something more uncertain. "Guten Morgen."

"I'm sorry you had to see that last night."

"Oh. No, don't be. It's . . . it's not a problem."

"Ah, good." Austria turned his attention to the waterfall of scents wafted in from the kitchen, craning his neck past Germany to get a better look. "I don't suppose you have any coffee brewing?"

"I do." Germany confirmed, and gestured towards a brewing pot on the counter. "It's Einspänner. I hope you don't mind having it so early in the morning."

"I _invented_ Einspänner coffee. I'll take it at any time of the day, thank you."

"It doesn't bother you having so much sugar so early?"

"Of course it doesn't. If anything, I'd almost rather take it with more sugar than it already has."

With that, Germany gave it up and stepped aside, creating a widened pathway to the pot. Austria strolled past him to the counter, where he fixed himself a mug of coffee, complete with a generous dollop of whipped cream.

"Shouldn't you be having more than a cup of coffee?" Germany asked disapprovingly, elevating his eyes from the cup to Austria himself.

"I'll get to that in my own time." Austria retorted lazily.

Shaking his head in amazement, Germany reminded himself what a marvel it was that Austria and Prussia could still deny being anything alike so vehemently. Stubbornness could go so far to blind people from reality. Still, Germany was stubborn, too. "No. There's food on the table. Have some."

"Fine."

Germany hovered by the table, watching anxiously as Austria took a seat at the table, Even if he didn't say anything, Austria looked pleased to see the food being served to him. Thinking back, Prussia had mentioned that Bavaria and Austria had been very close. Must be nice to have little pieces of him still alive. Germany wondered to himself how long it had taken him to be able to eat Bavarian food again, but he must have figured it out or else he wouldn't have been sat at the table, eating the breakfast prepared for him at a perfectly normal pace. Still, the German waited to say anything. Let the musician eat his food first. Don't scare him off from eating. So he kept watching and waiting. Watching and waiting until the pianist was just about done with his plate.

"We need to talk." Germany announced matter-of-a-factly. Finally. "About last night."

"I don't need you to speak to me like a child."

"Well, you're either getting it from me or Gilbert. Your choice."

"I've already heard all of this. I don't need anyone else to tell me how worried they are about me and how I shouldn't have done it or anything more of the sort. I don't need anymore pointless pity."

"If there's one thing Gilbert's never done, it's pity you." Germany snorted. Austria's brows furrowed and he made a face like he knew Germany was right but didn't want to admit it, then looked to the younger man to continue. "He's worried about you, that's for sure, he's just an idiot when it comes to expressing that how he means to. I know him as well as anyone and I know he cares about you more than he'd like to admit."

"If he's so worried about me, it's only because of-" He gestured towards his bandaged wrist. "-this. He wouldn't care enough to give me a second glance if he hadn't gotten guilt tripped into helping by my mistake of acting on an impulse."

"Don't tell me you actually believe that, Roderich."

"It isn't your place to say what I do or don't believe."

"You seemed to have gotten along fine during the Wars."

"Well—I don't see how that—" Austria sputtered indignantly. Whatever retort he was dreaming of giving seemed to drift further and further away from his grasp, so he stiffened his hold on his folded arms and sighed like he just couldn't believe Germany would even bring that up. "The circumstances are different during war."

"Ja, I know," Germany began. "But my point was that I've seen you two getting along. I wasn't nearly . . . in my best state of mind during those years, but I noticed how you flocked to each other."

"Excuse me?"

"At some point or another, I think you both realized you didn't want a war, or at least not the kind I did, but also that you had no say in it. It baffled me, actually. All my life I'd believed you two hated each other, but you came together so easily under circumstances you couldn't change."

Austria didn't speak for a while after that. Germany looked over in time to realize that he had dropped his gaze onto the surface of his coffee. Somehow, he looked troubled.

"We didn't have much of a choice," Austria admitted sotto voce. "It was either putting up with one another at least enough to make company or drive ourselves insane without any."

"But you still managed to get along better than I did with either or you at the time. You do well with one another under hard circumstances."

"I don't want him to bear with my company because he thinks he needs to play savior to me until I'm ' _feeling better.'_ My state of mind is not a novelty he needs to play with or a war he can shelter me from until he boosts his own ego enough to leave with his head held high. Yes, I'll admit that I trust him, but if he wants to be involved in my life . . . this isn't how I want that to happen."

"He would've helped sooner if he'd known you needed it."

"Only to leave as soon as he feels he's solved everything."

"I'm telling you again that you know better than to really think that. He's stayed every time he's had a choice in it, hasn't he?"

Again, the room knew no words, so Germany waited for them to come. A minute passed. Austria just stood there, his eyebrows knitted together and eyes fixed on the floor. Another two crawled by like desperate prisoners, but still, no response came. And after half of another, Germany sighed nearly silently and gave up on keeping up any sort of conversation.

"Try having more patience with him, Roderich," Germany advised. "He's an idiot, but he's trying. For you."

Another silence reminded Germany that no Germanic nation was anywhere near socially capable. It led to a lot of quiet, which was probably a good chunk of why Italy found the whole lot of them so intimidating.

"So, do you want to hear it from me or Gilbert?" Germany coughed uncomfortably.

"That wasn't enough?" Austria groaned, and Germany wondered if it were possible for someone to look any less interested in anything.

"I told you that my bruder cares about you, you know that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about. Gilbert or me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You might hear it again, but for now, you can choose."

"I'm already getting it from Gilbert, you know."

"So he _is_ good for something . . ."

"But I'm guessing I'm going to hear it from you either way, so you might as well get it over with now,"

"Alright, then. First of all, I want to say some things to you, things I've never been able to say." Germany looked at him for a minute. "I'm sorry for making you come to war with me,"

"What?"

"The World Wars. I'm sorry for making you join them."

"I was going to start the First either way. You know that."

"But I didn't have to provoke you. And I didn't have to make you follow me into the Second. Back then, I let my people despise you because of your family name, and I believed them and _him_ when they told me you didn't deserve to exist on your own. But I still cared at you, even if it was twisted at the time. I always have cared for you. I thought bringing you to war with me was the best way I could protect you. That was wrong, and I'm sorry. I didn't think about what that might do to you. And . . . I'm sorry I've never said that to you before.

"Now the other nations get scared if I so much as sit next to you during a meeting. They're worried I'm going to seize you up into a Fourth Reich and retake the world. I thought about that earlier, and you never really got out of this trap. All these years have gone by and you can't live your own life. You can't talk to me or Gilbert, even Feli and Kiku, without making people worry and you can't make any alliances with anyone when you were so dependent on those."

He stopped to inhale sharply.

"Now that that's been said, there's still something else I need to say, and I thought about how I wanted to say it to you a lot last night and earlier this morning."

"Please tell me you didn't make notecards." Austria pleaded dryly.

"Only at first!" Germany protested defensively. "I threw them away after a while. Anyway, what I wanted to say was that you matter. To me, and to my bruder, I'm sure. You've been hurt a lot over the course of your lifetime, so I feel it's important to say we're here for you now, even if we haven't always been before. We'd miss you if you were gone and it's painful for the both of us to see you like this. Don't hurt yourself. That's never the answer. We love you, and we'd miss you if you were gone. If you ever need anything, you have neighbors in Berlin here for you. Always. Regardless of politics."

He stopped to catch his breath and let it all sink in for a minute. He dared to take a look back at Austria and found him staring off somewhere. His brow was furrowed and his ever present frown had grown unusually deep and troubled. Between the two of them, it got very quiet.

"I'd like to go back upstairs now," Austria murmured softly after a considerable passage of time. Something in his voice sounded off, but Germany couldn't place it.

"Ja, alright," Germany agreed with something of a sigh, deciding it wasn't worth pushing. He put a hand to rest on Austria's shoulder blade, but when that just led to a now uncomfortable continuation of silence, he turned it into a pat and pulled back. But Austria didn't do anything. He didn't move at all, despite what he'd said. So Germany did instead. He muttered something else under his breath about having work to do, and then he fled up the stairs, leaving Austria by himself with nothing but his own thoughts and a cup of murky coffee.

* * *

"Have you figured out if he's suicidal?" Germany asked stiffly in a lowered voice, like he was worried the nation of the hour would be straining to eavesdrop somewhere nearby, after a few minutes of uneasy quiet between himself and his brother. He clearly didn't want to have to even be asking that question. A pang of sympathy shot through the sea of panic that flooded Prussia.

"You really think he would?" Prussia choked out once he regained himself. _Regained himself_ being relative, considering how much getting every word out felt like walking barefoot over searing nails. Maybe a stray thought or two had whispered the possibility to him before, but those were just loosely justified intrusive thoughts. Hearing someone else justify them by asking about it out loud made it so much worse. So much more real. " _Kill himself?_ "

"I don't know, but it wouldn't hurt to ask."

"I . . . guess not, but how am I supposed to ask him about that?" Prussia demanded. Out of everything he'd ever tried to pull on Austria, this seemed like it was finally crossing the line into territory which he absolutely could not venture into without ruining it in every possible way. Even if he knew how to go about it - which he _didn't -_ it was so . . . _weird._ All this _comforting_ and _talking_ wasn't like winning a war. All he had to do was sit in a room and make a little conversation, and somehow it ended up being much, much harder, especially when Austria was actively deflecting almost everything which he tried. He was trying — really, he was — but it felt like nothing he was doing was turning out right. "I can't just stroll up to him and ask 'Hey, Roddy, what's up? Are you thinking about killing yourself?' That'd sound so stupid!"

"Well, don't ask him like _that_." Germany defended. He looked a little uncomfortable being put on the spot to think up how to express something so sensitive and emotional to say. Oddly enough, it was a little comforting to see that Prussia wasn't the only one there who had no idea what to do with himself. "Make him feel safe when you're alone and _then_ try asking. I can get a web page up to look at later, but try something more . . . well, sensitive."

"But, if I ask him, won't that make him think about it more?"

"Actually, no. I've read that bringing it up should make it easier for him to open up."

"What, really?"

"Yes, I think the reasoning behind it is that it makes them feel like they can talk to someone about it. It's like tearing down the barrier which makes a lot of people feel like they can't talk about it, I think. It — it's difficult to explain, but I've read that it's supposed to make most people more comfortable talking about it."

"Yeah, okay, but how do I know when to do it?"

"Well, try and tell me beforehand so that I know to leave you two alone while you're talking; I'd be happy to let you talk to him for as long as you need to."

Easier said than done. For half a second, it was hard for Prussia to keep himself from resenting his younger brother. He went on about all this professional advice and tactics like he could just _do that_. And he _couldn't._ But he still had to keep going like he could. ". . . What if it doesn't go well? I mean, you know how he is! And . . . how I am."

"Why are you asking me how to talk to him? You're the one who's known him for over a thousand years."

"Ja, I've known him for a thousand years and I _still_ don't know how to talk to him." Prussia blurted. He almost winced at the sound of how uncertain and hurt his own voice sounded, but words kept falling from his mouth too fast to keep himself from saying anything more. "I've been through everything with him and he's still in a whole other world. You're the one who knows all this stuff about therapy and that kind of thing, but I've had over a thousand years to make progress and I _still_ have _no idea_ how to get through to him!"

"Just . . ." Germany trailed off. "Try, alright?"

Prussia paused. It'd been a long time since he'd heard his brother sound so gentle. He huffed quietly, then found that his shirt sleeves seemed more interesting to inspect than they had a minute ago. It would be nice if he could get lost in a world where the tear by the hems of the cuff was his most troubling problem. But he couldn't, and Germany probably wanted an answer, even if he didn't exactly ask for one. He sighed under his breath, then mumbled "Ja, okay. I'll try."

"Good. And stay with him again tonight."

"With him—? Wait, how did you-"

"He left his door open. He never leaves his door open unless he isn't in his room. I'd gone to check on him, but when he wasn't there, I went to your room and saw the two of you together. It's an incomplete theory, but it's been said that cuddling a person can help to lower depression, if only by a sliver."

"We weren't _cuddling._ " Prussia sulked defensively. He glowered at his brother to express better than words could what a stupidly dainty word _cuddling_ was and that he wouldn't be caught dead doing such a thing, but Germany only raised a dubious eyebrow.

"That's what it looked like to me."

"I— fine. I was worried about him. Sue me."

"All I meant is that it can't hurt." Germany explained, just sympathetic and calmly enough that it felt comforting. For a second, they were living in a serene world, where everything really was meant to work out. But then Germany completely ruined any part of the nice mood with a question that Prussia hated for how completely serious it was. "But you do know he can't marry anymore, don't you?"

Prussia had a very selective hand gesture to share with his younger brother as he stomped off back downstairs. Once he got down there, Austria tossed him a confused look from his seat at the table, but Prussia just slumped down into a chair and muttered something about how glad Austria should be that he didn't have a brother. The younger didn't look any less confused, but he took it with an eye roll. He didn't say anything, but Prussia was relieved to see that Austria's plate was empty, and not empty like it had never had anything on it, empty aside from the food residue from breakfast. He was eating again.

"At the very least, I'm glad I don't have either of you scoundrels for brothers." Austria agreed.

"Hey, you would count yourself lucky if you got to call yourself a Beilschmidt!" Prussia countered defensively, shoving an accusatory finger in Austria's face.

"I can safely say that I've never been _that_ desperate to change my family name."

"Here's an idea - how about you shove it?"

"So crude," Austria muttered to himself with a click of his tongue. But for half of a second, he let himself smile, and even if he covered it the moment he caught it, it made Prussia's heart skip over a beat. By the end of all of this, he decided, he was going to have seen that smile a thousand more times. He'd make sure of it.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 **Ja - Yes**

 **Bruder - Brother**

 **Prinzessin - Princess**

 **A/N:**

 **Whelp, I know it's been a long time, but I hope you were able to enjoy this chapter. High school's pretty time consuming, but I'll definitely be able to get stuff out** _ **much**_ **faster than this one (though that's not saying much). Anyway, thank you all again for your support and sticking with me for so long! I hope you have a wonderful day!**

 **~Aleberle**


	12. Chapter 11

**Okay, so I said "a lot sooner," but I guess I'm about as trustworthy as Stingy Jack. :/ Sorry about that, by the way. The most I can offer is that I was less prepared for how busy high school would be than I thought I would be. However, I've adjusted pretty well now and now, for the first time ever, I actually have a schedule for finishing chapters which works for me. On the bright side of the whole high school thing, my school's art teacher, who's infamous across campus for being mean and hating everyone, adores me (probably because I'm the only kid not actively falling asleep in his class and actually engaged in his class) and he's really nice to me. He chats about artsy things with me, lets me have special access to his more expensive art supplies he normally reserves for the IB Art kids, and puts up some of my artwork in display cases. He gets a bad rep, but he's actually pretty cool. Sorta terrifying sometimes, but I get the feeling that he just doesn't know how to socialize well enough to express himself any better and comes off as kinda malicious when he doesn't mean to. Anyway, y'all know the rules, I hope you enjoy this one! I am actually pretty sure the next chapter will be out soon, but let's not jinx it again. But I digress. Have fun!**

It'd been two days since Prussia and Germany had found Austria cutting. Hardly a long time by anyone's standards, but time dragged by slower after it had happened, held up by worry often bordering on paranoia and a seemingly endless reserve of time set aside for checking on Austria, who seemed unhappy with the attention but knew he wasn't in any position to argue against receiving it. Waiting out the last of Kristallnacht was torturous and crowded with the brothers' neverending schemes to distract him from the turmoil of the anniversary, but it came and went like anything else. Hopefully, things would be better now that such days were behind them.

It was barely after midday, but the sun had already started drooping in the sky, though it wouldn't set for another couple of hours. Winter was eager to come early this year, and with that, the first snowfall of the year was bound to be coming before too long. It was exceptionally cold for early November in Vienna, even so much that one could travel to Munich and not find anything better. Austria had even agreed to turning on something Prussia would never have guessed was a radiator, much less that it actually worked, for the sake of protecting his piano from the cold. That at least helped, but the dining table still felt like ice and Prussia could tell Germany agreed with him. Austria's solution was to not go near the dining table, but that proved less helpful for all of the everyone else in the house who didn't have somewhere else in the house to be. At the very least, the beer didn't need to be set aside to chill.

"Did Van der Bellen ever get back to you?" Prussia asked his brother, shifting his head onto his hand. The other was loosely clutching a half glass of beer he'd been nursing for a while now.

"Ja. He didn't seem as surprised as I thought that he would be." Germany said, looking somewhat put off. Prussia imagined his brother would have wanted in on this if it was public knowledge in the Hofburg. Even without a crisis at hand, he was always fond on being in the know.

"What kind of unsurprised are we talking here? Like you think he knew something or he just didn't faint at his desk outta shock?"

"I—" Germany trailed off, frowning contemplatively. "I don't think he _knew,_ but he sounded like he at least saw it coming."

"That bastard." Prussia grumbled. He took a swig from his glass. "What'd he say about the stuff?"

"He's got someone set aside for something like this. Herr Doktor Eskeles I think was the name. He's the therapist Roderich is supposed to meet with. And he said he would make sure to take care of the medication. He also promised to take care of Roderich's usual paperwork to give him more time to recover. I offered to do it myself, but he insisted the government could handle it."

Prussia snorted. "Of course you did. You're such a workaholic, West." He paused, taking on a more serious expression. "So, when'd he say he was supposed to get us Roddy's stuff?"

"They'll give his new medication to him when he goes in to see the therapist."

"Which is . . . ?"  
"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?" Prussia repeated, letting out a low whistle. "That's comin' up."

Germany nodded, then his expression softened. "I'm glad it's going efficiently, but there's hardly been any time to process all of this."

"Trust me, I know. I can't believe we ended up here. Of all people, I didn't think it would be him."

"Has he told you anything more?" Germany asked, eyes shining with something akin to desperation. Prussia melted. Such a young kid being forced through so much. Of course Germany wanted to help. Austria had half raised him, and no matter how irritating and helpless and lazy he got, his younger brother had always been protective of him. Of course he wanted to help, he just didn't know how.

"No, and hell if I know how I'm supposed to get him talking. All he's really said about it is that it started back in the 1700s, it got kicked back into gear by the Second World War, I think, and that now he's generally feeling bad."

"You don't think-" Germany cut himself off, a frown deepening on his face. When he looked up, Prussia was already bursting with curiosity, cocking his head to the side with a confused expression. He shook his head. "Never mind. It's probably not a good day for that anyway. Why don't you take him out today?"

Prussia snapped to attention, his face burning and his eyes bulging so far out of his sockets he thought they might pop out. "You want me to-"

" _Outside._ Take him out _side._ Fresh air's good, so long as your head isn't stuck in the gutter."

"My head is _not!"_ Prussia insisted unhelpfully. He would have made it into a whole fight, too, but he didn't have enough energy, so he looked at his younger brother and huffed instead. For his own sake, he wouldn't say it out loud, but Germany counted that as a victory. "Whatever, I'll go get him now so we're back before dinner."

"Gilbert?"

"Hm?"

"You don't think- Do we even know what we're doing here on our own? Should we call Elizabeta?"

Prussia paused. Hungary would kill him if she found out he knew and didn't tell her, but . . . "Nah. He can tell her if he wants to. If we make that call for him, he's never gonna come back. He's kinda stupid like that. The harder you push him, the harder he pushes back."

"Like inertia?" Germany seemed to agree, but unconsciously rubbed at his knuckles anxiously.

"Geez, you're such a nerd, West. You got that from him, I swear. I think the problem's that he gets overwhelmed easy. Well, that and he's a damn prideful bastard if I've ever seen one."

"But are we even qualified to-"

"No. And neither is Liz. Geez, West, you're freaking out over something you already took care of. None of us know how to deal with this and that's why _we got an entire government team of professionals involved,_ remember? 'Sides, hate to tell you this, but even though Liz was hitched to him, she's about as ready to handle his freak outs as you or me. I've asked her about it before, don't ask me why, and the only time she's really seen him get upset was the divorce, and that wasn't exactly a hurt and comfort operation. Look, if he wants her, we'll call her, but if you ask me, between you, me, his government, the therapist, and the meds, I think we've got it covered.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, West." Germany looked up, and for a second, Prussia could see a glimpse of the scared little boy he'd raised before he'd made the mistake of introducing him to war. In turn, Prussia gave him the biggest trademark smile he possibly could. "The Awesome Prussia's gonna take care of him, and I'll be damned if I don't get him back to us in one piece!"

Germany nodded, offering a grateful ghost of a smile, and his elder brother left for the ballroom.

Unsurprisingly, Prussia noted upon his arrival, his aristocrat hadn't ever moved from the piano bench.

Surprisingly, he'd been considerably cooperative all day, much to the great relief of both Germans. Austria ate what he was given at both breakfast and lunch without fuss, even if he looked put off by the frequent nervous glances sent his way while he ate and hadn't seemed particularly hungry to begin with. Yet as the day wore on, it became abundantly clear that all three had been much more worn out from the last couple of days than they'd have liked to admit. Really, Austria had been worn out all day, but the longer the day dragged on, the harder it got to ignore. Finally, they had let him go to let him go and breathe for a while, and he'd more or less slunk off to the piano and never came back. On more than one occasion, Prussia had thought about trying to strike up a conversation, but one look into those eyes and he knew the man was gone. Besides, every time he seriously considered giving it a shot, he couldn't think of what to say. What was he supposed to ask, how he was doing? He already knew that. Even the notes he plucked out seemed unhappy. No matter how much the Prussian watched him play, he hadn't gotten a single piece out without changing his mind part way through and half heartedly changing it to something else. It was kind of sad, really.

Hovering a few paces from the instrument, he watched for about fifteen minutes as the compositions stopped and started and then stopped again. Initially, he'd thought it best to avoid getting Austria angry by interrupting him, but it wasn't looking like there was much to interrupt . . . He folded his arms. "If you don't want to play, you could just do something else."

"I _am_ playing." Austria insisted with a scowl, eyes still glued to the keys. His fingers hovered above them, unable to create the songs in his head.

"Not really." Prussia scoffed. "Come on, you wanna go out and do something fun? We're in the capital city, one of two places in your whole country that people actually want to visit for something besides swiping your hilarious signs. There's gotta be somewhere worth going to."

Sighing, a contemplative look crossed Austria's face. His fingers dexterously brushed the keys as he mulled it over, tracing the sharps and flats with slow and innate precision. As he hummed to himself, a light bulb seemed to go off. "Kristallnacht was just yesterday. If we're going out to do anything, we might as well go and see Judenplatz."

It should go without saying that Prussia was considerably less thrilled. He looked over at him, an eyebrow raised and his face wrinkled in obvious disapproval. "Are you sure looking at that stuff's a good idea for you right now?"

"I can't pretend it doesn't exist and neither can you."

"I'm not saying it didn't happen, I'm saying that I don't think going to a museum of all the people we killed is a good idea for you right now. Today's not a good day for that. I'll take you some other time, promise. Just not for a while."

"It's the day after eightieth anniversary of the beginning of seven years of massacre. When will there ever be a better time?"

"When you're doing better." Prussia insisted firmly, facing the man with a fixed stare. _When was this guy going to get it through his head?_

"I'm well enough." The old musician returned, jumping to his feet and just as relentless to prove himself right as he'd always been. Except, this time felt wrong. Really wrong. If he still couldn't see what the problem was, then . . . then what was going to happen to him? If he could call this "well enough," then what was he going to do on a bad day?

All the stubbornness in the Prussian's eyes melted to worry. The result was immediate; Austria dropped his defensive, half-grimacing and half-wilting under his old rival's concerned eyes. "I'm not sure you realize how serious this is."

" _The Holocaust_ was serious." Austria countered, but there was hardly any power behind the mutter that came out in a wash of self conscious discomfort.

"Don't do that. I'm not worried about that right now, I'm worried about _you_."

"I wish you weren't."

"How come?"

"Because I-." Austria huffed, averting his gaze from the demanding curiosity that was the greatest competitor of most of his life. "Because I hate it when you worry about me. It's . . . it's _strange,_ and it isn't like you."

"Sorry, but I don't think you've got a lot of choice in that."

"I can see that, thank you. Still, I wish you would find something better to do with your time than treat me like a child."

"Like what?"

"Do you want specifics?"

"You know that telling me that you're not worth worrying over makes me worry about you more, right?"

"Can't you just leave it be?"

"Nope."

"I don't need to be taken care of." Austria hissed, but his confidence had fallen for a split second before he could catch it, leaving him looking almost . . . insecure? Just for a second, right after he finished talking. He was quick to cover it up, but not fast enough to keep it going unnoticed.

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"You don't have to stay here out of a sense of responsibility. It'd be better for the both of us if you would just leave than hang around to humor me."

"What if I want to hang around here with you?" Clearly, he wasn't convinced. Still. For a good long minute, Prussia gave serious consideration to what he was thinking about saying before sighing in defeat and adding: "Please?"

Austria stopped, again caught off guard. He blinked blankly, apparently that unused to hearing Prussia use basic manners. When the evident shock settled, he huffed. "Fine."

"Awesome. Get up, we're going out."

"Now?" Austria groaned.

"No time like the present! C'mon!" Prussia motioned with his hand for Austria to follow and bounded out of the room and down the stairs, the musician reluctantly close behind. His feet hit the wood of the staircase's foot, and he threw his head back to yell out to his brother. "West, we're going _outside!"_

"Alright!" Germany yelled back from the dining room as his elder brother threw the door open and was gone before Germany could poke his head out to check on him.

A gust of brisk wind hit him in the face once he stepped outside. It was November alright, though he'd expected it to be raining more often and heavier this time of year, especially considering how frigid it had been lately. He looked back at Austria, only to see that he was faring just as well as Prussia, if not better. Since coming back from Russian control, he had gotten used to thinking of himself as the most resistant to the cold out of the three of them, but it was easy to forget that Austria had had more than his fair share of lower temperatures in his lifetime, too. A wave of disgust hit him and he had to fight a rising gag at the thought of having to own and explore an island that close to Russia. There were things he'd never understand how Austria could put up with, delicate as he was.

"You coming?" Prussia called. Austria nodded, clicking his tongue irritably at the elder's impatience. He quickened until he was only a few paces behind, and kept his eyes sharply focused on where Prussia was going.

"Why didn't you just tell him we were going out?"

"I don't know, in case West has his head in the gutter." Prussia said with a shrug. Austria raised a brow, but said nothing.

"Where are we going again?" Austria grumbled. He probably didn't really care what answer he got to that; anything was susceptible to complaint.

"I dunno. Wherever."

"And why is it that we aren't driving when you went to the trouble of dragging your car all the way here from Berlin?"

"Kills more time. Besides, walking's good for you."

Satisfied enough, despite his obvious objections, Austria left it at that with only a few trivial complaints. A few blocks, no conversation from him. A couple more, still nothing. You could cut the tension with a knife. On occasion, Prussia would glance at Austria just to see if he would look back. He didn't. Could he feel how uncomfortable he was?

"Can I ask you something?" Prussia asked suddenly, looking back at Austria with thinly veiled anxiety. Austria's eyes widened. He stared briefly at Prussia in bewilderment, but he nodded. "This isn't because I tease you or anything, is it?"

"Of course not." Austria insisted sharply with an annoyed scowl, like the very suggestion offended him. "Shocking as it may be, my life doesn't actually revolve around you, and while I know I haven't been a powerful empire in a long time, I'm not _that_ delicate."

Instantly, Prussia brightened. "Good. 'Cause I don't actually want make you upset or anything. Well, I used to, but you know-"

"Yes, Gilbert, I know." Austria interjected, annoyance written all across his face. "It's fine. Really. Now please stop asking about it and acting so weird."

Were he the type, Prussia might have breathed out a small sigh of relief. Instead of that, he smiled. Austria looked a little surprised, but returned with a small, tired smile after only a brief pause. "You got it, Prinzessin."

But even the brief exchange of warmth between them couldn't last long. Prussia's face fell first after not too long, and Austria, who was finding more and more as of late that his smiles were dependent on the Prussian giving him something to smile about, quickly shrank back.

Austria tilted his head, curious. "Is something wrong?"

". . . So, you really think that I'm only here because I have to be?"

"Gilbert, I've had enough of talking about this." Austria sighed pleadingly, looking to Prussia in hopes of the elder understanding and retreating to his predestined boundaries, but was met instead with an indescribable expression of hurt, fear, sadness, sympathy, and worry altogether.

"Roderich, we haven't talked about this since it started two hundred something years ago. You haven't talked to anyone about it. You know I'm worried about you."

"I-" Austria began, looking away shamefully. It took time for his voice to come back, and it came back softer, barely above a whisper. "I know you're worried about me."

"Then talk to me." Prussia pleaded. "You've hardly said a thing about all of this; it isn't healthy."

"I know it isn't, but I don't know what you expect me to do. After the Wall came down, it took you years to talk about any of it, so you of all people should understand that doing this being open thing is harder than it's made out to be."

"Look, I don't mean to force you to say anything-"

"Don't you?"

"I _don't."_ Prussia insisted. "And I know West and I have been kinda pushing this on you, but you never get anywhere when we don't. Like . . . that used to be fine, if you don't wanna talk about it, don't, but you're really pushing how much we let you get away with here."

"I- I know . . ." He was ashamed of himself. Clearly. Prussia did feel kinda bad making him feel so guilty,

"And I know we talk to you about it a lot, but it would help if you would say something back at least half the time. How am I supposed to know how to help you if you don't tell me anything that's going on or what you want me to do for you or anything?"

"I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"Roderich-"

"Later. I promise."

Prussia eyed him suspiciously. Eventually, he sighed defeatedly. "Well, I can't make you tell anything you don't want to. Still, it's _me._ I don't know what you think you have to worry about."

Almost guiltily, Austria looked away.

"No, don't- what I meant was-"

"Can you stop it?" Austria snapped. Prussia quirked an eyebrow, begging the question of ' _What?'_. "You're- You've been acting so . . . strangely through all of this. You're _never_ like this."

"And you're _always_ like this." Prussia retaliated. "You just had a really big episode and you expect me to believe that that hasn't left any impact on you?"

"I don't know what I expect you to believe, but whatever you think doesn't make you right."

"I think you need some damn help and I know I'm right about that. And you still think I'm just here for . . . for some kinda stunt or something? Really?"

"I think that you don't think that you are, but I do think that's what you're doing."

"Why would I-"

"Simple. Because you feel bad." Austria explained casually. In an instant, Prussia very much wanted to argue with that, not that Austria seemed to pay it much mind. "It's perfectly natural. I'd feel bad if I knew you or your brother or virtually anyone else were doing the sorts of things I've done, too. Even if you don't want to admit it to yourself right now, you're here so that I, the poor and sad man alone in his house, will get over it and stop being sad so that you won't have to feel bad for me and spend your time on all those distasteful emotions: the guilt, the sympathy, the sadness, the regret. You'll get over it as soon as I do."

"And you really think that, huh?"

"Of course. You're only here because I've upset you. Once that's gone, so will you."

"You're wrong." Austria raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. The very fact that he was so quick to give up on him got under Prussia's skin so easily. "I wouldn't care if it wasn't you or a few other people. Well, I'd _care,_ but if it were, I don't know . . . Alfred. If it were Alfred, I'd get England and his brother over, say a little something forgettable, and then leave. Maybe I'd show up to a World Meeting with West sometime to see how he was doing, but that's it. Not with you. I've been here with you since we were kids, and as soon as I realized something was up with you . . . I know I don't say it a lot, or ever, really, but, ah . . ." Prussia hesitated, feeling suddenly bashful. Now or never, right? "I don't think I could take seeing anything happen to you. I'd always thought you knew that I'm here for you if you need it, but I guess I haven't been as good about letting you know that as I thought. So, sorry about that. It wasn't supposed to come off like I don't care about you."

A beat, or two, then Austria spoke, quieter than before. ". . . It's alright."

"No, it's not, I-" Prussia sighed. "I shouldn't have let you go so long by yourself."

"You really couldn't have known."

"Doesn't matter. It shouldn't have gotten this far."

"The Wall, Gilbert."  
"The Wall fell."

"Oh, stop it." Austria spat. "Stop doing what I do. Don't find a thousand reasons to get mad at yourself just because."

Prussia looked at him strange, waiting for Austria to continue on with that thought. He didn't. He decided he'd pry into that later. "An apology's overdue."

"Fine. Apology accepted. Now may we please drop it?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess. But you're sure you don't want to talk about any of this?"

"Positive. Now may we please get this over with and go back home?"

"Okay," Prussia conceded, earning him a look of surprise from the Austrian. "Where do you want to go?"

"Home, but seeing as that doesn't seem to be an option, I don't know. As long as you don't take me somewhere stupid or too far, I don't particularly care."

"Suit yourself." Prussia shrugged. He wasn't the most familiar with the ins and outs of the streets of Vienna, even if walking next to Austria made him look like a regular expert on the subject, but he figured if they just walked straight into town and back and he kept Austria at his heels, they couldn't get too lost. At least it was a scenic walk. Much as he resented admitting it, it wasn't hard to imagine Vienna being the world's most liveable city. The last drops of the sunset poured onto the rooftops, flashing their dying glow in windows they managed to catch. Below, ancient architecture melted seamlessly into the new shops, all aglow under the recently lit streetlights in an otherwise darkening night. Crowds bustled all around them, sometimes diverging into streams to flow into restaurants an analog clock hung up by a close shop told them it was time for. If he still had a country, would it look like this or would it be different?

"So, here's town." Prussia announced. "Anywhere you want to go from here?"

"Besides the obvious? No." Like he needed to clarify it, he added: "I'm really not much of an outdoors person."

"Really?" Prussia exclaimed, sarcasm dripping from every word, a look of feigned shock on his face. Austria rolled his eyes. "And you didn't tell me?"

"You be quiet. I can walk around town a little with you if you want, but I really would like to get back home before it gets too dark. Heaven knows, if you can't find your way back, I'll be lost out here forever."

"How are you even that bad with directions?"

"I don't know, I thought it would get better with age, but I think you can see about how well that worked out."

"You've probably gotten worse!"

"I have not! It was just less noticeable when they gave empires escorts. Or spouses."

"If you say so. It's already kinda dark, though, so we probably shouldn't hang around here for too long."

Austria agreed readily. In that regard, it was fortunate that there wasn't much to see and not a ton to say. Of course, near everything in Vienna had a certain charm to it, but very few things in the world were entertaining forever. They walked a while longer, just until Austria issued a formal complaint about being tired right by a kinda neat water fountain with some statues of some old guys he had a feeling he should know. It was far beyond too cold to risk resting too close to the water and getting damp; Prussia saw no problem with wandering until they found somewhere else to rest or just making it all the way back instead, but Austria jumped on the opportunity to find a close bench out of the water's range. As far as it concerned music, baking, beating Switzerland at Alpine skiing, and getting out of leg work, Austria was the reigning expert across all continents.

Settling on the bench would have been a lot nicer if it wasn't freezing, but since Austria didn't seem to have a problem with it, Prussia supposed it was fine. His breath appeared in frigid smoke bombs before him. It looked like it'd freeze. After a minute, Austria started looking at him cautiously, like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. "Aren't you going to keep bugging me about what happened?"

"Are you going to actually talk to me?" Prussia countered.

A pause. "Where would you have me start?"

"No offense, but I don't really care.

"I know you mean well, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, okay." Prussia agreed. He didn't entirely agree with the words coming out of his mouth. He really wanted Austria to talk with him about this, but if he wasn't going to give him any sort of answers . . .

"Look, Gilbert," Austria sighed. "I'm sure this is . . . difficult, for you. I know this isn't what you're used to or what you would expect from me, and I can imagine I'm perhaps a bit difficult, too, but stop coddling me."

"Coddling?" Prussia echoed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "Roddy, I'm kinda giving you the absolute bare minimum here."

"What I mean is that . . . Look, Gilbert," Austria sighed. "I'm sure this is . . . difficult, for you. I know this isn't what you're used to or what you would expect from me, and I can imagine I'm perhaps a bit difficult, too, but I don't need someone to treat me like a child. Maybe I do need help, but I haven't changed. You shouldn't feel any differently about me just because I've garnered your sympathy."

"It's not that I feel _differently_ ," He swallowed, holding back a grimace when he choked on the words caught in his throat. From that angle, he could sort of understand why Austria never said anything about this. Expressing things openly was harder than all those younger nations always advertised it being, and even without a crisis, Austria had always been the most soft spoken of him, Hungary, and Prussia. "Fritz used to tell me this thing. He said that you can't focus on everything, so you've gotta put everything into whatever's most important, or else you lose all of it. I don't know how to put this . . . You just gave me something that's the most important thing to focus on. I'm just reprioritizing." It was awfully hot for a cold day, he decided, though it had been freezing less than a minute ago. The sun had long since set, but his face was boiling hot enough that he would have checked for a fever if he didn't know any better. Embarrassed, he looked away, rubbing absently at his neck. "Like, you've always kinda been up there, but when I shift stuff around, I have to think about how important things are to me and- you, you're important to me. Like a whole lot."

There was a pause for silence.

"Oh." Austria said. He sounded genuinely surprised. "Am I really?"

"Er, yeah."

"Oh." He said again. Then he nodded. "That's nice to know, thank you."

For the umpteenth time of the millenium, he had to ask himself what kind of absolute weirdo he'd managed to get himself attached to. A sudden sensation tore him out of his thoughts. It almost felt like- No, no way. Austria had taken him by the hand, and even though he was doing his utmost to keep Prussia from seeing his face, he was definitely flushed. A brilliant, teasing smirk broke out on Prussia's face.

"Aww, you wuv me!" Prussia sang.

"Oh, wouldn't that delight you?" Austria bit back, but he left his hand there and did not seem opposed to the callused fingers clothing it.

By mid evening, when the lamplights shone with a heavenly glow against the unforgiving night, they headed back, making it back to the house before it was time to eat. Dinner was being given its finishing touches as they walked in through the door but only after Austria had thoroughly scolded Germany for going to the trouble of cooking for him when he could have done it himself were all three able to sit down and eat. Prussia couldn't help but feel it was unlike him to turn down anyone's offer to have something done for him, and brought it up once to lighten the mood, but Germany sent him a sharp look to quiet him and the topic was dropped. Aside from mealtime pleasantries, it was a quiet evening and as uneventful as any other.

Naturally the food was delicious; Germany was a skilled cook, after all. Both of the elder nations—er, one nation and one former nation, or two former empires— thanked him appropriately, despite Austria's reservations about being waited on that evening. At Austria's cacophony of protests when Germany also insisted upon clearing the table and cleaning up all by himself, Prussia wondered if Austria really hadn't seen Germany stress work since he'd taken up neutrality.

Germany cleared his throat, clearly uneasy in the art of conversation. "How was your outing?"

"Fine." Austria answered. Germany looked hilariously helpless, like that was his best shot and getting a conversation going and he'd really been depending on Austria to keep the rest of it going; Prussia nearly choked on his water.

"Where'd you end up going to?" Austria shot him a look that said " _hell if I know"_ and tilted his head vaguely in Prussia's direction to pass the baton on to someone who could walk the bathroom in their own home without getting lost twice on the way.

"We just walked down into town and then back." Prussia clarified, somehow still astounded that the man was so unfamiliar with his own land. His brother nodded in acknowledgement.

"I was rummaging around looking for a pen to sign some paperwork with and found a deck of cards." As if to prove his point, Germany pulled out a deck so old that it was still speckled with dust and would have been a magnificent find for any young historian trying to make the local paper. If Prussia had to guess, it was probably one of the ones manufactured during the burst of playing card propaganda in the First World War. Somehow, its familiarity was almost comforting, in a way. And even though he'd since been informed they were no longer accepted as such, the Allied caricatures were still pretty funny."Do you want to play?"

"Hell yeah!" Prussia agreed without hesitation.

"What are we playing? Poker, Sixty-Six, Skat?" Austria suggested.

"Skat." Prussia and Germany insisted in near perfect unison.

"Skat it is, then."

"West, you're dealing." Prussia decided. Promptly, he sent a cocky smirk Austria's way, receiving an unfrightened expression and a rain sed eyebrow in return. "Don't think I'm gonna go easy on you."

"Does that include playing by the rules this time?"

"Are you accusing me of cheating?"

"I'm accusing you of having more jacks than the rest of us brought in the deck last time."

"It's good luck! You're just bad at it."

"We'll see."

Out of the corner of his eye, Prussia noticed Germany looking on in either exasperation or amusement; he couldn't tell which. "I haven't played cards with the both of you since the war ended."

"No way it's been that long. Roddy, we've played since then, right?" He turned, but Austria was staring off into space, a weird look on his face. He frowned, waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Roddy, you there?"

"Yes, sorry." Austria shook his head like clearing away whatever else was cluttering his head. "No, I don't think we've played since forty three, at least. Ludwig left to fight in the army full time by that Christmas and then I took up neutrality for independence and the Berlin Wall came up after that. Then things got too busy for cards after it came down."

"Damn. Guess we'll have to make up for lost time then, huh?"

"Fine by me."

Germany dumped the cards into his hand and began dealing to the sound of his elders bickering over whether or not Prussia had, in fact, brought extra cards to Skat games and then whether or not that was counted as cheating if he had. As they would soon learn, Prussia was a little worse than expected, Austria a little better, and Germany easily able to put them both to shame five games in a row. When asked where he'd learned to play so well, he simply told them he'd played in the army. By then, it was nearly ten and even though none of them were particularly tired, it was getting late. At Germany's suggestion, Prussia was to take Austria off to bed since they had taken to sharing a room and all while his younger brother would clean up downstairs.

Once the two of them were alone, Austria asked: "Are things going back to normal then?"

"No." Prussia said. Austria's face fell immediately. "Normal was awful. Now's rough, but bad times get better and I'd rather power through this than settle for something that doesn't work anymore."

Nothing. Austria wouldn't even look at him.

"Roddy—" Prussia paused, glaring at the floor in frustration. How to phrase this without sounding stupid? "—I'd rather have you better than have us more comfortable not talking. You should get to be happy, not . . . not like it's been."

"I appreciate your concern, really, but—" Austria's brow furrowed, cut from any self-deprecating endings to that sentence by Prussia's disapproving attention. He cleared his throat. "—this was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it, I know, but it was only a few times. I can get over it myself. You really don't need to do this."

"A few times is too many." Prussia pressed, soft sympathy in his voice. "Get it through your head that I want to be here, stupid. Let me do this for you." Violet eyes flashed with longing, making Prussia wonder how much of what he'd been saying was little more than a ruse. "Things are complicated right now, but they'll get better. Hell, they always do. But that's a problem for the morning. Get to bed."

Austria nodded, but Prussia would have lead him to the bedroom even if he hadn't approved of it. All of this feelingsy stuff was wearing him out. Austria, too, probably. Just like he had last night and every night for close to a month now, he went to bed hoping things would be better in the morning.

Dark. Everything around Prussia was completely dark. He could make out vague outlines of some old furniture and a couple of posters he'd put up a few years back to brighten up the place, but not much ungodly hour of the night was it? The aching exhaustion keeping him tied to the bed combined with how long it took his squinted eyes to adjust to the low light of the room told him it was late. Very late. He made a mental note to kick himself for waking up at this hour without his consent. Much more pressing, however, was that when he felt the space within an arm's reach and inspected the room, he came to realize that the rest of the bed he was lying in was empty. Taking into account that this bed had had twice the occupants it now had when he fell asleep, a half empty bed begged the question of where in the fresh hell Austria was. Either some kind of trick was being played on him and it was not anywhere close to the time he imagined it was or Austria was up in the middle of the night doing something somewhere and hell would freeze over before anyone stopped Prussia from working out exactly what and where; a look at the clock on his phone made quick work of that debate.

Grunting curses in every language he knew under his breath, Prussia dragged himself out of bed. A pang of worry stung his chest, but he pushed it down. If he wasn't in the piano room, _then_ he could get worried and start checking the bathrooms. He trudged down the hall to the empty ballroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand. Logically, he knew he should be more hopeful that the pianist was where he thought he was, but he was so damn _tired_ that he just wanted him to get back to bed.

Through the doorway, he could see him. Austria was hunched over the piano, his back to the Prussian in the doorframe. Oddly enough, he wasn't playing anything, or even trying to; he was just standing there, silent and unmoving. Weird, but it was less concerning than Prussia was tired.

"Hey," Prussia drawled to an unresponsive audience. "What the hell're you doing up? Geez, have you checked what time it is?"

No answer. Prussia frowned.

"It's three in the morning, Rod. Get back to bed." Still, Austria didn't say anything. If he didn't know any better, Prussia might have thought he hadn't heard him at all. He crept the last stretch up to the pianist, putting a hand on his shoulder as he walked around the piano bench. Even underneath thick pajamas, the skin Prussia's hand touched was cold as ice and shaking. _Now_ he was starting to get worried. Glassy, unfocused eyes stared in a blind panic at something Prussia couldn't see. The musician was nervous and disheveled; his breathing was haggard and came in short, ragged bursts.

"Roddy." Prussia called to him, softer now. He gave the younger man's shoulder a careful shake, just for good measure. Like he'd been startled out of a deep sleep, Austria looked at him, eyes a little clearer, but haggard and careworn and . . . and wet. Ice rushed through the Prussian's blood. Austria might start crying. His mind was racing, but he couldn't settle on any coherent thought besides that. He wasn't crying yet, but for him to be so close . . . The clenched fists around the open fallboard, his stiff posture, the pained determination in his eyes; he was holding it in as best as he could. "Talk to me, Specs."

Nothing. Austria just stared at him.

Prussia sighed. "Please?" He tried. "Can you talk to me _please?"_

At last, something registered; violet eyes blinked clarity back into themselves. Relief washed over Prussia like a waterfall. Unkempt and upset as he was, Austria was still with him.

"Nightmare?" Prussia suggested.

Austria swallowed. "Something like that."

"Want to talk about it?"

Austria shook his head _no,_ but instead of saying that, he said, as if against his will: "Maybe?"

Startled, Prussia only stared back at him in blank shock. The possibility that Austria was finally ready to talk about this had been so far away he hadn't even seriously envisioned it. Only when his throat started to hurt did he realize that he'd been holding his breath. Okay, this was happening; what was he supposed to say?

"Come back to bed." Prussia finally urged quietly, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll talk about it there, okay?"

"I- I think—" Austria stammered incoherently, eyes darting around the room in a vague frenzy. Tears he couldn't repress anymore welled up in his eyes. "— I . . . I need . . ."

"Roddy?" He called, carefully, concern etched onto his face. _Don't mess this up._ "Are—" He swallowed. Nervousness crept through his stomach and trapped his throat shut. _Be gentle._ "Are you crying?"

Austria's face crumpled, like forcing himself to believe it wasn't real was the last strand keeping him together. Sympathy bubbled up to the surface of Prussia's exterior.

"C'mere," Prussia soothed. He took his hand off of Austria's shoulder and took his hand, guiding him away from the piano. Didn't even take much. One gentle tug and Austria practically fell away from it. "I'll take care of you."

He'd meant to take the musician back to bed, but before he could get anywhere, a quiet voice stopped him.

"Gilbert?" Prussia turned back, cocking an eyebrow. He barely had enough time to register what was going on before a force like a freight train slammed into him. until he recognized hands clutching his back. Finally, he looked down. That certainly hadn't been any kind of train; he'd been needed for a hug.

"I- I'm sorry." Austria stammered, but made no move to pull away.

"You're good." Prussia muttered breathlessly, still from the underlying shock of it. Belatedly, he snuck his arms around the musician, who felt so fragile in his arms. Concerned, his frown deepened. "Geez, Prinzessin, you're shaking . . ."

Understandably, Austria didn't respond. Nothing much happened for some time after that. Austria didn't break down crying nor did Prussia start on an elaborate speech which magically soothed all of Austria's fears and insecurities. In all likelihood, Austria just needed to get a hug from someone then, but leaving everything they were thinking behind closed doors was making Prussia get antsy.

"Not to rush you or anything, but I was kind of hoping we could do this in the room. So, here, don't mind me, I'll just—" Promptly, Prussia scooped Austria up into his arms. Not a single word of protest, he noted in a growing stir of worry. Always, the aristocrat had _always_ hated being carried, especially by his former rival. Biting his lip, Prussia carried him back to the bed. It wasn't until he was sat on the bed with Austria in his lap and pressed into a hug with his face buried in the crook of Prussia's neck that the Austrian really started crying. Fingers went to his nape to pet him and he collapsed. Quiet whimpers and silent tears turned to violent sobs that made his whole body convulse and shake like Prussia had never seen before.

"Roddy?" Prussia tried softly. It didn't work. Not only did he receive any sort of response, but he wasn't even sure that Austria could hear him with how much he was crying. He bit down on his lip uncomfortably. By this point, he was running out of ideas, and he hadn't had many of those to begin with. "Prinzessin?"

Once more, nothing.

"Shh, hey," Prussia murmured very, _very_ worriedly near the Austrian's ear. At this rate, the Austrian was going to flood the place before Prussia caught so much of a glimpse as to what was wrong. "Hey, Roddy, I'm gonna need you to calm down for me, okay? Do you think you can do that?"

Again, Austria hadn't enough physical or emotional strength to do anything of the sort. He was hyperventilating trying to get ahold of himself and that was making it worse. After a minute of listening to the choked hyperventilation over hysterical sobbing which refused to improve in the slightest, Prussia took action. Gently but sternly, he slipped one hand away from the Austrian's torso and brought it up to where the pianist was bawling into his former-rival's shirt. Then, he crawled his hand under the Austrian's chin and pushed it up, bringing him eye-to-eye with the hysterical musician.

The moment he laid eyes on the sight before him, Prussia's heart shattered. Right then, he immediately took back every time he had ever wanted to make Austria cry, whether he was serious about it or just venting, because no petty revenge or anything else was worth _this_. Never once in his entire life had he seen the man whom he had fought with for centuries look so _broken_ , and never again did he want to. Those big eyes were looking up at him now, red bleeding into the whites of his eyes and mixing with violet through a wall of tears which fell in balls down his face and onto the hand which held it. It would have been obvious from miles away that the poor man was trembling, but from up close, he looked like his entire body had been wrecked with earthquakes, and the effects seemed to be long lasting. His shaking had become so bad that trying to hold his face steady was fast becoming an impossible task. More than anything else, he, the incredible, strong, unstoppable warrior he remembered, looked like a kicked puppy someone had left out in the rain and it was like torture to watch.

"H-hey, come on, don't cry, Roddy," Prussia tried again, staring helplessly back into those miserable, defeated eyes which looked so unfamiliar to him. With a hand so carefully cradling the Austrian's face, he brought up his thumb to brush away a few tears and felt more than a few drip down across his thumb as he did so. "What's going on?"

Prussia found himself completely helpless against being unable to do little more than watch and offer comforting shushes as Austria tried—and failed—to calm himself. The Austrian did his best to stop the hyperventilating and the hiccups by taking one large, slow breath in, which came shakily, but alright, so it seemed that he might be able to get whatever it was that he wanted to say out after a few more of those. But, whatever he had been going to say dissolved as he choked on another sob and broke down again.

"Hey, Roddy, no!" Prussia insisted again. He bit his lip uneasily. What was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he was any good at these sorts of things. He never had been and he wasn't sure he ever would be. But here they were and he couldn't get Austria—the man who was so fixated on composure that he would be beaten into the ground on the battlefield and still keep a mildly inconvenienced expression on his face—to stop crying, and he had to do _something_. "I mean—no, go ahead, if that'll make you'll feel better. Just freaks me out is all, because I'm worried. Like I've said. A lot. You just need to talk to me, ja? Just calm down, Prinzessin, I've got you. Here—uh, you were trying that breathing thing? Let's do that again, okay? Can you do that with me, huh? Look, I'll do it with you, just start and I'll catch up, okay?"

To be fair, it looked like Austria got some sort of a nod out and was at least trying to do as he had been instructed, it was just that he wasn't actually doing very well at it. He would try to get calm enough to try a deep breath, but would choke over another rising sob before he ever got to finishing the first breath in. Every. Single. Time. Soon, Prussia decided that he couldn't take watching that anymore and took initiative. Keeping eye contact, he pulled a deep breath of air in, held it for a few seconds, and then released. And he did it again. And again. And again, until Austria really got it and followed suit as best he could. As best he could turned out to not be great, but he did get a good two or three in. He didn't stop crying, no, not at all. But, at the very least, he got to the point of crying quietly and calmly enough to be able to talk through it all.

"There you go," Prussia praised. He kept uselessly brushing away tears with a foreign gentleness while he continued on, not at all unaware of the way the Austrian's lips quivered all the while. "What do you say—can you talk to me?"

Much to Prussia's relief, Austria forced out an unsteady nod. As soon as he got the confirmation, he rubbed Austria's back encouragingly, keeping in contact with tear-filled violet eyes as he continued on.

"Why're we here, Roddy?" Prussia asked tenderly. The Austrian swallowed hard and took another deep and shuddered breath to steady himself. He blinked at tears which refused to end their flow, but eventually gave up on getting rid of them and settled for staring back at his former enemy, his entire body racked with tremors and hiccups. "What's going on?"

"I- I-it's be-because," Austria forced out every word like it burned him, almost every one interrupted by tearful hiccups which tore at Prussia's heart strings. "I-it's bec-because I deser-deserve it."

" _What?"_ Prussia nearly shouted in pure and unadulterated shock, his heart stopping; his eyes grew as wide as saucers, sympathy beginning to spring from the cracks in the dam of consternation which now made up most of the vermillion irises; caught up by the shock, his mouth dropped open into a fish-like gape. Almost frantically, he cupped Austria's face, which was flushed and drenched from all that crying, with both hands. "Nein, nein-nein-nein- _nein!_ Roddy, _Prinzessin,_ are you _serious_? Why the _hell_ would you think you _deserve this_?"

"I-it's all m-my fault." Austria sobbed, eyes clouded with hysteria and fixed on the ground. "It's m-my f-fault, i-it's my f-fault, _it's my fault."_

"Roddy? Roderich, look at me. Look at me. We're still looking at me, 'kay?" Slowly, reluctantly, Austria met his eyes again. "What was your fault?"

"T-the- the wars."

"The World Wars?" Austria nodded. "Oh, geez, Roddy, _no_. No, they weren't. What are you talking about?"

"The-they were; I-I dragged y-you and your b-brother into a c-conflict you d-didn't need to be in and w-when the second one g-got s-started, I didn't f-fight it when I-I s-should have, when I c-could h-have—"

"You could have what? Stopped us?"

"I-I sent mi-milli-millions of innocent people a-and _children_ to the slaughter l-like they- l-like they did-didn't mean a-anything."

"All nations are like that! We've all killed people just because we're nations and we have to! Look at England - he used to be the guy who everyone hated because he just went around and took everyone's land so that everyone was either dead, a slave, or paying for his taxes. Toni was awful to the people in the Americas and he had the Spanish Inquisition. He's being a real tool trying to tell us it didn't happen or it wasn't that bad or whatever the new crappy coverup is now, but you remember what Kiku did to China and the rest of his continent when he got his hands them during the Second World War. Every nation's done bad stuff; that's just how it goes. That doesn't mean that you deserve to have to cut yourself to death!"

From that, Prussia was forced to watch as Austria said nothing more, but crumpled back into wretched sobs once more. In miserable humiliation, the Austrian averted his eyes, but, upon gentle insistence from Prussia, looked back up at the worried crimson irises staring down at him. Prussia wondered if the Austrian could tell that the shattered remains of his heart had just been obliterated by the contents of the conversation. This was what had been going on all this time? Austria had been sitting there, _since the forties or fifties_ , he had said earlier, miserable and loathing himself as he drowned in memory of the things he had done, all this time?

' _Poor thing,'_ Prussia thought to himself, sympathetically watching the tears cascade out of those so familiar eyes and brushing away as many as he could, though every drop he brushed away was replaced instantaneously with several more. Sure, all of the former Axis members felt _awful_ about everything that had happened. Really, he doubted that there were any words strong enough to express the grief and the guilt which came with their crimes, but as far as he was concerned, it wasn't like _this_ for the rest of them. On anniversaries, Germany would shut himself away, Prussia would drown himself in alcohol, Italy lost some of his trademark spark of unquenchable energy, and he was pretty sure that underneath all that denial of his everything, Japan still felt as horrendous as the rest of them, but for Austria, without anyone else having so much as a guess as to what was going on, it was a full year, every year, of self-loathing and, eventually, self-mutilation, all by himself for nearly an entire century. Even now, he felt so unrelentingly awful that he couldn't bear to look Prussia in the eye. How could anyone be expected to go through that?

"Roderich," Prussia called softly, drawing Austria's just barely averted eyes back to him. "The thing is that what you did and what he—what _Hitler_ did aren't the same. What you did was bad - _really_ bad—so I won't pretend that it wasn't. But it _wasn't all your fault._ If you were a person, this would be another story and I wouldn't feel bad about having the both of us in jail or worse. But you're a country, so it's different. We made a really bad call and a lot of people suffered and died, but we've all done stuff like this before. Doesn't make what happened better, it just means that we've always had to do awful things because that's part of being a country. And what about West and me? We did more of it than anyone else, so don't think it's fair to call it all your fault when we messed up, too."

"L-Ludwig was only a c-child when it a-all happened, he c-couldn't have p-possibly known what he was r-really doing t-the way I did."

"What about me, then? I'm older than you, what's my excuse?" Prussia challenged. "We made our own decisions. It's not fair to take all the credit."

All Austria did in turn was cry. Prussia pulled him close, burying his fingers in his hair.

"Shh, I've got you." Prussia murmured into Austria's ear, all the while rubbing the back of the Austrian's scalp and playing with his sea of pristine hair in the most comforting way which he knew how to. With considerably less effort than usual, he had guided the Austrian into resting his face in the crook of his neck. That would be more comfortable for both of them and it would be easier for Prussia to hold the Austrian close when he needed to. "Look—you're okay. _You're okay_. I'm awesome and I've got you and I'm not letting go, so it's going to be okay, ja? Don't take it out on yourself."

An unnerving sensation came over Prussia that the trembling Austrian in his arms _wanted_ to take it out on himself. That needed to stop, as soon as possible. Problem was, he didn't know how to make that happen. There wasn't a single instance in either of their histories when Prussia could remember Austria acting like this. _No one_ could remember Austria acting like this, because he just _didn't_. So of course he didn't know exactly what to do with all of this. Regardless, this Austrian was not going to hurt himself on Prussia's watch, he could be sure of that much.

Still, all he could hear from the other were whimpers which made him want to go back in time to kick his past self in the shin for ever suggesting that the Austrian join either of the wars. In the back of his mind, something told him that it was good that Austria was managing to let it all out rather than keeping everything inside of him until it ended up with him confiding in a knife, but benefits to the situation were hard to think of over the sounds of aching sobs.

"G-Gilbert, he-help me. Please." Austria begged. His voice was wrecked and broken in more ways than one; Prussia hated it so much. "I-it _hu-hurts._ You c-can't even ima-imagine."

"I know. I know it does. You can do this.

"If- if- if I-I h-had j-just— if I had- if I h-had s-stopped to t-think before I—"

"No." Prussia whispered gently, shaking his head.

"I- I was s-so _a-angry_ when they k-killed him . . . I was s-so . . . so . . ."

"No, nothing you could have done would have stopped us."

"I n-never- I never s-should have g-gone to w-war. I- I was so- w-was so _s-stupid,_ I d-don't . . . know _w-what_ I was-"

"We were getting ready for war for years. It would have happened eventually."

"I-I'm sorry," Austria whispered, so softly that Prussia might have missed it. The eyes that met Prussia's were searing with pain, desperate for something. Forgiveness, maybe. Forgiveness the Prussia couldn't give him, no matter how much he wanted to. Maybe he wanted someone to look at him and not see the vile Prussia could now see that he saw. "I'm s-so- I'm so s-sorry. I'm s-so sorry. Gilbert, _I'm s-so—"_ His voice broke under the worsening sobs. " _I'm so . . ."_

"What are you apologizing to me for?" Prussia murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

"I d-didn't m-mean for it t-to end l-like this." Austria choked out. "I-it s-should have b-been me. A-all of it. At l-least then it w-wouldn't have m-mattered. They s-shouldn't have d-died. Eliza shouldn't h-have been t-tortured and g-given to Russia. L-Ludwig s-shouldn't have h-had to go t-through all of that s-so young. A-and you . . ." He swallowed thickly. "T-they shouldn't h-have h-had to take you a-away. They s-shouldn't h-have had to have gotten r-rid of your c-country. A-at least if they'd t-taken m-mine away, it w-wouldn't have ma-mattered."

"Roderich, it always would have mattered, what are you—"

"G-Gilbert, _I don't m-matter!"_ Austria shouted.

The words froze in the air, sending chills down Prussia's spine. and making the ever growing pool of tears which now soaked his shirt feel frigid. Not only did those words freeze, but Prussia, himself, froze. His fingers locked into place halfway through a lazy lock of hair, not daring to move from their position. In a rush of growing concern bordering on panic, he stared down at the quivering mess of a nation in his arms, who had plunged back into ragged, wretched sobbing. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of how much he had just let out. Or maybe he was all too aware, and that was making it worse.

"Roddy, you really hate yourself that much?" Prussia whispered, making sure that he never once let his hand stop massaging the back of the Austrian's scalp. More so because he never took his hand off, when he finally got the response, he could really feel the heartbroken Austrian nod, both into his hand and into his neck. And once again, his whole mind and heart ached terribly for his pianist. He hugged the Austrian closer and let the younger man cling tightly to him and drench his shoulder through gasped breaths and pained whimpers. How had it taken him this long to figure out how much the Austrian was hurting?

"Roddy . . ." Prussia crooned. How had they all missed this? How had _he_ missed this? How had he let this go so far? What was he even supposed to say to that? While he tried to think of something, he kept ahold of the Austrian in his arms. To protect him. After all these years, he never thought this was where he would end up. After all the fighting, the mocking, the pettiness, the competition, and the negative attention, he never thought he would be the one flocking to protect Austria, of all people. It hadn't been until World War Two that he'd ever even considered that Austria might be more vulnerable than he was letting on, but even then, it was just another idea in the back of his head. Not worth wasting time on. Thinking back, with how many cues he must have missed, getting slapped in the face with a reality check was a little more than deserved. So he spoke softly. "Roddy, I get that you blame yourself for the Wars, but how can you do this to yourself because of that? You've never had issues with this kind of stuff before. What's making this one this bad for you?"

"I-it wa-wasn't this bad be-before," Austria choked out helplessly, and there was so much pain etched so deeply into every syllable that Prussia could have cried. "T-there w-weren't so many—s-so many . . . it w-wasn't like this be-before . . ."

"It's not all your fault, Prinzessin, you know this. It's okay to feel bad about what you did—you're _supposed_ to feel bad about what you did—but this is going too far with it."

"I-I can't he-help i-it."

"And we're going work on that. For now, you keep coming to me, at least until you _can_ help it, okay?"

"But I des-deserve t-to—"

" _No_ , you _don't_. Don't say it. No matter what, you don't deserve to feel like you have to do this to yourself. _No one_ deserves to have to go through that."

"B-but I—"

"No. Roddy, listen to me. It's _okay_. You're okay. You've paid your war debts and you're trying to make it better and it's _over_. It's over. Look—we both screwed up and nothing's going to change that, but we're different people now. You'll just have to get over it the same way that you've gotten over every other war—be a better person—er, uh, country— move on, and make sure you're on the right side of the next one."

"Wha-what i-if I ca-can't?"

"You will."

"But I-I have-haven't gotten a-any better; I'm s-still ex-exactly like I w-as an-and—"

"What? No! No, you're not! You're way different than you were then! Stop saying that kind of stuff!"

"I-I'm o-only te-telling you what's tru-true."

"Hey, what did I say about saying that crap? I told you that's not true, so quit it." By that point, Prussia was quite horrified to find that Austria was somehow crying even harder than he had been earlier.

"Roderich, _look at you."_ Prussia muttered, brushing a falling tear away with his thumb. He knew that hoping, or even expecting, the Austrian to look back at him was in vain, "You've suffered enough. This isn't worth it."

By the unintelligible noise which Austria made, he disagreed. Prussia sighed. "Okay, well, you at least can't hurt yourself anymore. That's done, okay?"

Austria nodded tearfully into the sodden skin of Prussia's neck. It wasn't quiet, per say, but neither one had much to say after that.

"You're- you're pretty awesome, got it?" Prussia admitted quietly. Reassuringly and protectively, he bent his head at what was just barely too disagreeable of an angle and pressed a kiss to the skin just below Austria's hairline. Immediately, the pianist gave a strangled cry as if he'd been burned as he choked over a whole new wave of convulsive tears and clung tighter to the Prussian. That hurt more to hear than he knew how to say. Even if his brain still screeched at him for having done so in the first place, Prussia had a frightening battle with temptation to fight before he could keep himself from not giving the Austrian another peck for that pained noise alone. On one hand, doing something like giving out forehead kisses was so unbelievably lame that he couldn't believe that he not only knew someone who did that, but was someone who did that, but on the other hand, every time he thought about how stupid that had been, he got pulled back to the sound of Austria sobbing and the feel of the tear-soaked fabric clinging to his skin and decided that tarnishing his reputation a little was worth it, at least this time.

Poor thing probably just wasn't accustomed to comfort. Even that little thing was too much for him. Had he built up all of those walls because of that, or was that what the solitude behind so many walls had done to him? Prussia squeezed him as close as he possibly could for a second, then he decided he was satisfied with just holding him close and carding through his hair _without_ inducing the Heimlich. While Austria was quite busy letting the pent-up emotion of a century, or more than likely several, out, Prussia rested his chin on top of Austria's head and released the quietest of sighs. Oh, _Judas Priest_ , this was a mess. What had they _done_ to him?

By that point, there wasn't much Prussia could do besides hold the Austrian and let him cry it out with hushed reassurances. A million questions swarmed in his mind, but those could wait until his pianist could answer. For the time being, he decided they would just sit there for however long it was that Austria needed.

* * *

Close to an hour passed between Prussia waking up and Austria finally getting ahold of himself. Prussia became distinctly aware that the water flow onto his neck and shoulders had stopped altogether and had been replaced with the occasional whimper or shuddered exhale from the Austrian. So, he pulled back just enough to look at the Austrian in his lap, whose chin he once again pushed up to make sure that the eye contact was mutual. Naturally, it was incredibly obvious that Austria had been crying mercilessly. His entire face was flushed, as were the no-longer-whites of his eyes, his face was covered in drying tear tracks and hair which had become glued to his face by salty tears. Overall, he looked just about the most disheveled and distressed that Prussia had ever seen him.

"You okay?" Prussia asked carefully. Austria looked back and forth across the room, unsure, before giving something of a disorganized nod. That wasn't nearly the full truth, but he wasn't crying anymore and he had actually talked about what was going on, so that was enough for Prussia. For the time being, anyway.

"I'm gonna get you something to drink, okay?"

Immediately, Austria shook his head and swallowed thickly. It seemed that the hiccups would take longer to leave, but that was okay. He had mostly calmed down, and that was what was important. When met with a questioning look from the Prussian, he clarified with an embarrassed "S-stay. Please."

"Relax, Prinzessin, I'm not going far." Prussia reassured him. That plea, combined with how vulnerable Austria looked, melted the remains of Prussia's heart. He unentangled his fingers from dark hickory strands to bring up a hand to his pianist's face and swept several of the Austrian's damp locks out of his face and behind his ear. "There's a glass and a sink right over there. I mean, I can carry you if you really don't want me to go, but you really did cry a lot, so we should get something to drink in you, okay?"

Austria didn't look convinced in complying, but he nodded before retracting his arms. "That's alright, I'll wait here."

"Okay, that's good. I'll be back really quick. Just—stay put."

Nodding, Austria sat back and let him go. Prussia hurried over to the nearest sink where, as he'd said, a tall and empty glass was waiting for him to fill it. Waiting for the water to heat up would take time he didn't want to leave Austria alone for, so he settled for filling it with cold (read: absolutely freezing) water. Given that he chose to make his house any icy death trap all the time, Austria probably wouldn't mind. He shut off the water and, being careful not to spill any, brought it back to its intended recipient on the bed.

"I've gotten your shirt terribly wet." Austria realized aloud as he came back.

"Ja, thanks, I figured that one out." Prussia responded, teasing amusement in his voice

"I'm sorry." Austria muttered, looking away for the umpteenth time.

"Hey, don't worry about it! I told you to come to me, didn't I? And quit apologizing, it's weird."

"Here, drink this," Prussia offered, holding out the water glass to the Austrian, who blankly scrutinized the glass and the water inside before accepting it. He initially sipped delicately at the surface of the clear water, as he would under any normal circumstances, but the thirst built up over the last half hour or so reared its head not long after he recognized the sweet chill of water, and he gulped the rest of the cup's icy water down like it was the first he'd had in years. Again, Prussia extended his hand, this time to take back the glass.

"I should probably refill that." Prussia explained.

"A-alright." Austria agreed, handing the glass over to Prussia, who quickly refilled it and brought it back to him.

"Drink as much of this as you can, okay?" Prussia instructed gently.

Austria managed a nod of agreement. Having now calmed a little, he lapped up the water at a pace much closer to normal. Freaking out like that sure had cost his body a lot of water, but he seemed fine without a second refill.

"Do you, uh, do you want to sit back on my lap again or are you good there?"

"I'm fine here, thank you."

"Do you want some coffee or something, too?"

Austria shook his head, still moving delicately and shaking. His eyes stayed fixed on the cup in his hands, and he sipped at what was left of the water inside on occasion.

"Yeah, that was probably a bad idea anyway. Don't want you staying up all night." Under his breath, he added "Especially after all this."

"Thank you," He murmured so softly that Prussia barely heard. "For being here."

"Don't worry about it. So, are you gonna tell me what you were dreaming about?"

"What?"

"You said you had a nightmare earlier."

"Yes, I suppose I did say that." Austria admitted sheepishly. "I did have a dream that was, um . . . it was about the Holocaust. That's all."

"You have nightmares about it?"

"Yes. A lot, actually. Ever since it happened." He grimaced. "You're making that face like you're worried about me. It's fine, really. Nothing I don't deserve anyway."

"I changed my mind—get over here."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"I wanna give you another hug. C'mere."

"I— uh— a-alright." Austria consented. He shuffled forward, a little uncertain. There, he hesitated, and looked up at Prussia for reassurance. By this point, Prussia really couldn't imagine caring less about barriers or stopping to think it through and pulled his pianist into his arms, and then onto his lap.

Austria's breath caught in his throat upon contact. His back stiffened, he held himself like he was preparing to abscond. But it didn't last. Slowly but surely, his guard dropped, and the tension chipped away piece by piece until it was near gone. His shoulders fell, and he let himself nuzzle his head back into the crook of Prussia's neck. Shuddering, he let his reserve dissolve, and with it, his ability to keep from sneaking his arms around the torso of the former nation.

"I've got you, Prinzessin," Prussia murmured, holding tight to his pianist. Whether he was trying to reassure Austria or himself that he was safe was beyond even him. Given everything, it was probably both. "I've got you. You're gonna be okay. I'm not gonna let you hurt yourself again, mkay?"

"Okay," Austria mumbled into the fabric. It was hard to decipher what he was thinking just then, but Prussia hoped for his pianist's sake that he knew that he really did matter to his old rival.

"Good. Tell me when you feel like doing something like that, alright? Or even when you just don't feel great. Or whenever. Just talk to me."

Austria nodded.

"West and I are gonna help, got it? I'm never going to leave you and neither one of us is ever gonna let you hurt yourself again. Ever." Firmly, Prussia took the Austrian by the sides of his face and kissed his forehead again. His fingers tangled in the strands of hair hanging down past his ears. He wished then that holding his pianist so close could keep him safe from himself and every dark thought that came into his head, but he knew he'd have to be happy with just staying with him and doing his best to make him happy was the most he could do. Austria whimpered. Not like he was scared, but still, Prussia pulled back.

"Do you not want me to do that? You keep crying every time I do."

"No, i-it's not that. It's just that this is all a bit, uh, a bit overwhelming, and I'm not exactly what you'd call used to that sort of a thing."

"Weren't you close with Eliza, though?"

"I was, but it's been a long time since then." Austria's eyes were old and tired, and Prussia realized that a hundred years was a long time to be alone. For the thousandth time that night, Prussia felt bad for him.

"Roderich." Austria sat to attention. "I don't think you're weak because of this. Or at all. As much as I like to tease you, I- I'm proud of you for making it this far, okay? Hurting yourself isn't an option anymore; I can't do this without you."

As soon as he said it, a faint spark of scared hope glittered in Austria's eyes, like he was too scared of being hurt to really let himself believe it but wanted to so badly. Damn, that _hurt._ "Really?"

"You bet." Assured Prussia with a bittersweet smile. "Are you gonna be okay? Just tonight, I mean?"

"I think so."

"Alright, you've been up long enough." Prussia decided, ruffling Austria's hair affectionately. Austria scowled at him, but he looked too much like a puppy someone kicked and left out in the rain to carry much authority. With that, he flopped onto the bed, gesturing with his hands for Austria to follow suit. "C'mon, get some sleep. I'll still be here in the morning."

Practically eager, Austria nuzzled his way into Prussia's chest. Prussia's breath caught in his throat. This side of Austria was so foreign to him. Not that it was unwelcome; on the contrary, it was relieving to have him able to let go, and now that it was out there, it was as though he'd been holding his breath trying to keep it in. It was hard to imagine that this was the man he'd fought centuries of war against when he was being so innocent. And kinda cute, which was an embarrassing thing to think, but he was too tired to think about the implications. In the early hours of the morning after such a hard hour or so, what little energy he had left was not being thrown to fixating on whether or not finding Austria cute when he was all snuggled up with him was weird. He just wanted to sleep. He shut his eyes.

"Gilbert?" A quiet voice interrupted. His eyes popped open again.

"Yeah?"

"You're important to me, too."

A smile poured across Prussia's face. He pulled Austria a little closer. "Yeah, I know. Now get to sleep, stupid, I'll still be important in the morning."

Things were still a lot more broken than he wanted to admit. He knew what was going on with Austria now, but that didn't make him better. The stuff he'd said . . . disgusting as it was, he still believed that. Those were convictions that would take a long time to rewrite. He'd need a lot more help and have to put in a lot more effort than he already had to really start getting better. Tomorrow, things would really get started. Tomorrow, there would be therapy and new medication that might or might not work and a thousand more conversations. Germany would have to know about this, too.

But tomorrow was tomorrow, or rather, today was today given how early it was, and those problems would matter when the sun rose. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to let Austria get away from his _cuddles_ , as Germany grossly put it, again. He was momentarily content to sleep in the protection Prussia offered, so Prussia figured that was enough for the night.

And yeah, even though it was still late, early, really, and his mind was crammed with sludge from the lack of sleep, when he gave his assessment a second thought, Austria was definitely cute.

 **Translations:**

 **Honestly, the only real thing is the word "Ja" and I think you guys can figure that out. It means "yes," in case you didn't know.**

 **Author's Note:**

 **Eleven chapters in, close to 100,000 words, and I finally gave in and described Prussia as smirking. I tried so hard not to use it. I avoided it all this time because it's so overused and the overuse has given the word an overall cringey feeling to me. Also, I avoided using parentheses until just now because I hate them most of the time. Also, also I wasted so much more time than I needed to learning how to play Skat just so that I could write them playing the game into one scene without messing it up even though I never really intended to include descriptions of their actual gameplay. If anyone wants to play German card games, apparently I can now do that. Don't know when I'll ever need that, but Please be proud of me, I tried so hard to not get to this point. :')**

 **Some little tidbits from this chapter:**

 **The Hofburg Palace used to belong to the Hapsburgs, but has since been repurposed as the official place of work and residency of Austria's President, which as of now, happens to be Alexander Van der Bellen.**

 **Fucking, Austria is a town infamous for having its signs with the town's name on it stolen because people want souvenirs.**

 **Judenplatz is a memorial to the suffering of the Jewish people in Vienna. It was once the center of Jewish life in Vienna and consists of a memorial, the excavations of a medieval synagogue, and a museum of Jewish life in medieval times.**

 **Skat is a German card game. It is not only the most popular card game in Germany and Silesia, but the national game of Germany. The jack is the highest ranking trump card in this game, meaning it's really good for helping you win rounds. I'm not going to get much into game mechanics here, but that's about the gist of it.**

 **When Austria talks about being angry when an anonymous male person was killed, he means Franz Ferdinand.**

" **Little minds try to defend everything at once, but sensible people look at the main point only; they parry the worst blows and stand a little hurt if thereby they avoid a greater one. If you try to hold everything, you hold nothing." - Frederick the Great**


End file.
